Truth Vs Myth
by Blobfishington
Summary: Going to be re-written, so no new chapters will be added to this.
1. Odd

Tension claimed the air. Anticipation, its neighbor, incessantly stood watching. Both observed as a tan man appeared in a puff of blue flames. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"We haven't found him yet, Pops. But we think it was those pirates that took him, eh."

A sigh. The tanned man shared in the solemnity of it. The anticipation quickly turned into disappointment as Whitebeard frowned. Clutching the barrel of his rum slightly harder, he nodded.

"I see. Have you heard from any of the others? Ace, Jozu, Thatch?"

"Yea. They couldn't find anything either. Came to the same conclusion as me, eh."

Marco watched his Captain, patiently awaiting orders.

"Have Jozu and Thatch continue the search. I want you and Ace to stay and help me find out who those pirates were."

"Got it."

Another puff of flames later and Marco was gone. Whitebeard momentarily shut his eyes as he took a drink of his rum. It wasn't unusual for pirates to suddenly disappear. Especially not in the New World, where the seas were unpredictable and vast. But something about the casualness of his son Michael's disappearance unnerved him. It was one of those peculiar feelings; the kind that built up consistently, gradually sneaking its way into the nest of logical thoughts in one's head. A feeling that implied there was a reason behind its, hinted the reason, but refused to reveal it.

Something told Whitebeard that this wasn't just one of many disappearances. Who was he to question his gut feeling?

So he was resolved to find Michael no matter what. And if it meant back-tracking a little, then so be it. As a man of honor, he would do anything for his children.

Sometime later, perhaps a few days, he found himself in the company of a strange situation. On an island, while gathering necessary supplies, Michael could be seen standing on a cliff. That was unexpected but by no means the strange part. No, the strange part was that Michael held a stick in his hand and was pointing it at a group of people in such a serious manner; one would think he was threatening to kill them. Whitebeard would have laughed at how childish it seemed, but was too focused on the other people.

There were two total, covered head to toe in black-hooded robes. One was female, one male. Judging by the stiffness of their stances and the wild expression on Michael's face, this was a very critical moment.

In two to three strides Whitebeard swiftly climbed the cliff. He'd be damned if he let anything happen to one of his sons right in front of him!

"Michael, my son." He called

The young trio froze, eyes jumping easily to the massive form of Whitebeard. He smirked, feeling a secret satisfaction at being able to interrupt any kind of moment.

"Old man…!" Michael gaped, wild expression never dying.

"Are these two brats causing you trouble?" Ever the confident one, Whitebeard shifted a cynical eye upon the two robed people.

He wasn't sure what happened next. Something beyond his understanding, definitely. But as soon as he locked gazes with hazel eyes, everything went black. He hadn't even felt his body hit the floor. He hadn't heard any voices, hadn't seen any offensive movement made against him. Hell, he hadn't even felt any pressuring pain. The only certain reality was him waking up in the familiar sanctity of his bedroom with a couple of nurses standing about.

Upon his awakening the nurses rushed to his side, checking this and that, corroborating on what, possibly, could have happened. He had no concussion, no headache, no injury. It would seem he suffered from a fainting spell.

"You were probably exhausted." One nurse suggested. Whitebeard scoffed.

"I may be old, but I'm not that old."

At that moment his four main commanders rushed in, all in some form anxious.

"What happened?" Ace blurted, settling himself on top of an end table rather hastily.

"Are you alright, Pops?" Thatch asked, exhibiting a little more restraint than Ace.

"Yea, I'm alright." Whitebeard answered gruffly. "Takes more than a little black-out to take me down."

He could see relief wash over his sons, a desired effect. He continued.

"While we were on that island, did any of you see some hooded people?"

Marco tilted his head to the side. "I saw two of them. They were running off somewhere, eh."

"Yea…" Jozu nodded his agreement. "I saw 'em too."

"Did they do this to you?" Ace was frowning, presumably trying to recall if he had seen this hooded people.

"Might've." Whitebeard shrugged. "I saw them with Michael."

"Michael?" Thatch raised his eyebrows. "Surely we'd have seen the lad if he were there?"

"I'm telling you he _was _there. I saw him in some kind of confrontation with them." Whitebeard paused, frowning. "We're going back to that island."

It was agreed that they would re-commence their search at that nameless island. It was pretty small so interrogating the citizens for information shouldn't take long. One week, at most.

It was morning. The sun's first vision of light was soft. A crisp wind made its way casually through the little island. Marco sat against a tree, boredom scrawled all over his face. A few days have passed since their return to this little island. They must have searched every inch for any inkling of Michael; all in vain.

The boy seems to have disappeared once again. Of the two robed people, no one knows them. It was questionable whether they existed or not; an early onset of dementia _could _cause old people to hallucinate… But Marco had faith in his Captain, despite his old age. If he said he saw them, he would believe him.

Marco sighed, wondering what could be done. Just forgetting about Michael wouldn't be the right thing to do. He was kin. Forgetting him would be the same as killing him. But they had no leads to his whereabouts. Not the slightest clue.

And it was precisely those thoughts running through Marco's mind later that almost made him miss it. The unnoticed movement along the edge of the nearby forest. The figure, unfamiliar in every sense, emerging so casually that it blended in with the crowd. It was a girl from what he could see.

"Oy, girlie!" Marco approached her coolly. She stopped, eyebrows perched high on her forehead.

"Yes?" she asked.

"You new to town?" he tried to keep himself as smooth as possible, not wanting the girl to get defensive. God knows, they can be over-dramatic.

"Yes. I've been here for three days." She drawled lightly, boredly, droopy eyes fixed on him.

"Really? Where're you from, eh?"

"You're awfully curious." She blinked, eyebrows still up high.

"Excuse me for being nosy. But I haven't seen you not once around these parts in the past three days. It strikes me as a little funny."

"Do you mind telling me what exactly you're accusing me of?" the girl maintained a light tone, bland expression not once flickering.

"I'm not accusing you of nothing."

"I doubt that. Unless this is a new way to flirt with girls, I would very much appreciate it if you came out and said it."

Sensing no anger and noting her lack of indignant reaction Marco decided to consent.

"A friend of mine disappeared a while back. Kidnapped. He was last seen with two hooded people. One was a girl, if you catch my drift."

"Dear me, kidnapped? It's such a shame that that sort of thing happens to older men." The girl sighed softly. Marco frowned, staring her straight in the eye.

"You wouldn't know anything of it, would you?"

"No." she stated. "To answer you're first question, sir, I am a traveler. I come from nowhere. As for your accusation, let me assure you I have no such desire to kidnap myself a travel-buddy. But feel free to follow me until that suspicion goes away; I've nothing to hide." She shrugged.

Marco's frown didn't leave right away. She didn't seem to be lying… she was relaxed and seemed pretty agreeable. He couldn't, however, rid himself of his suspicions. There was something about the whole thing that he just didn't like.

Of course he wasn't going to stand here all day questioning her. He would simply observe her and act if she does anything odd. He might even get someone from his division to help him. He smiled, folding his arms across his chest.

"Alright, girlie. I'll let you go."

"Thank you. But my name isn't girlie. It's Siren." A bored smile climbed her face slowly, languidly.

"My bad, eh. I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm sure you will, Marco the Phoenix."

Siren proceeded to walk away, hands hanging lazily from her pockets, eyebrows never descending from that spot on her forehead. Marco blinked, surprised that such a young person could recognize him. He was more surprised, if not slightly insulted, that she didn't freak out about it. Only increasing his unease, it prompted him to report to his Captain.

Whitebeard, sitting in one of the public bars with his crew, seemed to be thinking over everything he just heard. The other high ranking commanders exchanged glances.

"Siren's her name?" Ace blinked, leaning back in his chair. "Sounds familiar, don't it?"

"Of course it's familiar. Thatch took a sip from his mug. "If you read the paper like I keep telling you to, you would know about Wicked Witch Siren."

At this Marco let out an involuntary scoff., amused.

"She makes me uneasy but she doesn't give off that "wicked" vibe. She was more "hippie" than "cruel"." He mused.

"Looks can be deceiving." Ace shrugged. With a grin, he continued, "I mean, looking at you no one would ever guess you're still a virgin."

As they all laughed, Marco twitched. "Lay off, eh!"

Smirking, Whitebeard looked at his first commander. "The kiddo has a point; don't believe what you see."

The Captain waited for the laughter to die down before speaking again.

"This girl… did you see where she's lodging?"

"Yea. A hotel near the coast." A disgruntled Marco replied.

"What're you planning, Pops?" Jozu raised an eyebrow.

"I think I'll pay the little lady a visit."

_Siren Vàrgaz_

_18_

_Devil Fruit User_

_Wanted For Treason Against World Government_

_Wanted For Murder Of Marine Commodore Jepson_

_Wanted For Theft_

_Wanted For Destruction Of Public Property_

_Bounty:_

_200,000,000 berri_

"That's her alright." Marco mumbled. They (the main commanders) sat huddled around a wanted poster of Siren. Marco had instantly recognized her droopy (hazel) eyes, the long and wavy (caramel chocolate) hair, and the (always) upraised eyebrows. She looked younger in this particular snapshot, peering at them through the glasses perched so precariously on the edge of her nose, an amused look lining her face.

"Was it such a good idea to let Pops go alone?" Thatch was rubbing his chin, a preoccupied frown tugging the corner of his lips.

"I don't see why not. Two-hundred mil is nothing for him." Ace shrugged, eyes never moving from the poster.

"Yea, I get you, but if she really is the hooded crusader he'll black out again."

"Nah, he won't. Pops won't fall for the same trick twice, eh."

The concern felt by Thatch was, in fact, unneeded. Siren was as calm and agreeable with their Captain as she had been with the First Division's Commander. The fact that Whitebeard had chosen to come speak with her was by no means a surprise; somehow she came to expect it after her little morning confrontation. And Siren, weary of conflict and trouble, had no desire to pick a fight with such a gigantic mountain.

"As I told your son Marco, I had nothing to do with the disappearance." She drawled in her light tone, casually leaning back in her seat.

"I'm aware of what you told him. But tell me, are you really the Wicked Witch?"

"I suppose I am."

"You suppose?"

"Yes. I am a witch, no doubt, but I lost track of what people call me now-a-days."

Whitebeard chuckled, the ever perpetual smirk stretching his face.

"A bit cheeky, aren't you, brat?"

She shrugged boredly, flicking some hair over her shoulder.

"If you say so, sir." After a moment she let a slight smile play up her cheeks. "Surely that's not all you wanted to know? I couldn't imagine you coming all the way over here just for idle chit chat."

"You got that right." His smirk died down a little, giving way to a more serious attitude. "Do you know of the Wicca Pirates, girl?"

Siren huffed, amusement more pronounced than ever. Her eyebrows would have raised higher if they weren't already at their limit.

"Cute. Very cute. Because I'm a witch you assume I'm acquainted with them. Is that it?"

"Not quite, but something along those lines."

"Yes." She sighed softly. "I know of the Wicca Pirates. No, I am not associated with them. Did you know they aren't even real wizards?"

"…and you are?"

"Yes. I don't have Devil Fruit powers like they do, nor as the Government claims. Mine are actually magical."

"Is that so?" the disbelief was fairly evident.

"Well, you could do the old witch test; throw me in water. If I sink, I'm a liar; If I swim, I'm a witch."

"Gurarara, I would love nothing more than to throw you in water, but that's not important right now, brat. Just tell me if you know how to find them."

"Oh. Are you looking for them?"

"They're my main suspects."

"Ah, what a coincidence. They're my main suspects as well."

Whitebeard raised an eyebrow, frowning.

"What're you on about?"

"I have my own personal problems to which they seem connected to. I've been following them but they're much too fast for me." She sighed, her light drawl coated with self-disappointment.

"Really now?"

Eyeing her up and down, Whitebeard smirked. "Let's strike a deal. You show me how to get to them and I'll bring you along."

"Why should I trust you…?" she mused.

"I'm a man of honor. I won't do anything to you unless you provoke me to."

"And you're crew…?"

"They're a good bunch who'll leave you alone. How about it? We share a common goal, after all."

For the first time since he's been there, her eyebrows lowered to a (ordinarily) normal spot.

"Very well, on the condition that I may leave to do… errands… and not have to answer any nosy questions."

"You're free to do what you want s'long as you do your end of the bargain."

Siren nodded. "Understood. When do you plan to set sail?"

"Tomorrow. Be ready by then, girl."

With all said and done, Whitebeard left the young witch alone. Inwardly he enjoyed a small victory. He was very much honest about his claim of the Wicca Pirates being the main suspects to this annoying mystery. And he did have every intention of investigating whether they were innocent or not. However, he was just as keen to keep an eye on the girl. Those hazel eyes bore a strong resemblance to the ones he saw before blacking out all those days ago. By having her on his ship while he searched for the Wicca Pirates, he was killing two birds with one stone. If she was innocent or if she was guilty, he would soon find out.

**A/N-**** And so ends the first chapter! This is the longest I have ever made a first chapter be… wow.**

**I think it only fair to warn you readers I may not be able to update every week. I might have to do a bi-weekly update, if anything (please understand, I go to a magnet art school which works me like a dog. So sad… ********). It's been a long while since I've written a story so I'm a bit rusty… bare with me! :D**

**Also, if a month goes by and I still haven't updated, I recommend you bombard me with hate mail. It'll guilt me into updating, I guarantee! **

**Please review! Constructive critiques are appreciated.**

****Disclaimer- One Piece belongs to Eiichiro Oda, not me. This story, Siren, Michael, and the plot belong to me.****


	2. Childish Decisions

"So this is the Moby Dick." Siren murmured, casting a lazy eye around the deck.

Marco, having been told to greet her, nodded. "We have three other ships, eh. They're a bit smaller, but still pretty big."

It was obvious why the Whitebeard Pirates needed so many ships. One ship alone couldn't hold 1600 or so men. It would also be very unhygienic. Though, perhaps, pirates truly don't care about cleanliness. Siren gave the most soundless of sniffs when she spotted various specks of grime everywhere.

"Are there only men on this ship?" she asked in her light drawl.

"No. Pops got some women nurses and a few women cooks. You'll be in the same room as them."

"Good to know."

Despite her rather flat reaction, Marco could tell this bit of news really did relieve her. Smiling, he crossed his arms and beckoned for her to follow him.

"I'll show you around later, but Pops wants to talk to you right now."

"Thank you, sir."

"You don't need to call me sir, eh. Makes me feel old…"

Siren shrugged. "The older the wiser, as they say."

"Fine, fine. Where's your luggage? I'll drop it off at the room for ya'."

"No need. I travel light." She let off another shrug. Marco didn't say anything, instead choosing to look at her.

Eventually they arrived to the front deck of the ship. Sitting in the middle, with various (good-looking) nurses surrounding him, was Whitebeard. His sons were lounging lazily along the railings, the sounds of idle chit-chat floating about. Marco made a motion to Siren signifying that she should go to his Captain. He decided to walk over to one of his crew mates, sitting himself down without another glance towards her.

Feeling a little funny, and a bit out-of-place, Siren approached Whitebeard.

"Good day to you, sir." She drawled, plopping Indian-Style to the ground in front of him. "You wanted to see me?"

"Of course." He was eyeing her impassively from above. In fact, some of the nurses and some of the crew were staring as well. Using every bit of restraint not to fidget she waited patiently for him to continue.

"Tell me, girl. How do you know where those Wicca Pirates are heading off to?"

"I ran into them on an island a few weeks back. I overheard them saying they needed to arrive at the Cyclades Islands within a year."

"The Cyclades Island?" Whitebeard muttered. "Those islands are renowned for their undefined route. Even with a Log Pose it's rare to reach them."

"Perhaps for the ignorant."

"Explain."

"There is a way to reach those islands. Two, in fact, both of which the World Government knows. They first way is by using the Eternal Pose made specifically for that area. The second is with magic."

"If the Government knows, I'm guessing they have the only Eternal Pose for those islands."

"Of course. They don't want anyone there for some reason or another."

"I'm also guessing only witches can use the magical means to get there."

"No, no; It's a major misconception thinking only witches can use magic. Devil Fruit users have the capability to perform magical feats as well, if only they applied themselves."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. The properties of magic aren't very different from that of Devil Fruits. You could say Devil Fruit powers are like Black Magic; though that's a whole… "scientific" explanation that I don't feel like getting into right now." She paused thoughtfully for a moment. "You're very relaxed about this. Do you finally believe I'm a witch, or do you fancy you're humoring me?"

"Nah, I believe you. I had heard that witches used to exist some time ago. It ain't surprising if some survived."

At this comment, Siren smiled very bitterly. She seemed on the verge of saying something but was restraining herself. Though this reaction did spark his curiosity, he chose to ignore it.

"I think I should tell you," Siren began after composing herself. "That those pirates like to stray off the main trail. The love their little detours."

"Detours?" he furrowed his brows.

"Yes. Often times they would disappear from the path to the Cyclades, only to reappear somewhere completely different. I find it really annoying… but it isn't terribly hard to track them again."

"I suppose," he leered. "You use your magic to find them?"

"No, sir. I simply guess." She smiled her languid smile, eyebrows raised high.

"You little brat." He smirked.

"If you say so."

**********

After the brief conversation with the Captain, Siren was encouraged to get acquainted with the crew. Somehow the prospect of meeting 1600 men didn't appeal to her. But those thoughts stemmed from childish stereotypes and should, she figured, be ignored. What's more, there was nothing more awkward than lazing around in a place full of strangers.

So Siren, pushing aside her discomfort, approached Marco once the ship set sail to the island she specified.

"All done, are you?" he greeted.

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "You, sir, owe me a tour of this place."

"Yea, yea. C'mon, I'll show you your room."

Somewhere below deck, she was led to a room which, on first sight, looked like a baby got very friendly with acrylic paints. All kinds of colors were splattered and smeared almost haphazardly in no kind of order. It took her eyes long seconds to register what she was seeing.

"I had the same reaction when I first came in here. A bit diverse, eh." Marco, who had been watching her, said. Siren blinked, realizing her mouth had opened slightly.

"It's… different, no doubt." Marco chuckled at her faint voice.

The room was a fairly hefty size, with twenty beds spaced evenly about. Around each bed was a curtain (most likely for privacy reasons) and a little bed-side table. The cause of the various colors was that around each bed were different styles of decorations. One bed was surrounded in bubble gum pink and blue, with very baby-ish pillows and animals, while to its side the next bed had more sophisticated Victorian trimmings with morose tones; and even still across those two beds was one with dull black and white (and repulsive) ornaments. It would seem that each nurse fixed their area to suit their own personal tastes and preferences.

"I suppose I get the empty bed." Siren said, eyes finally finding the only untouched area in the room.

"Naturally. You don't have to fancy it up like the others, eh."

"Where are the others? This place is empty."

"It's about lunch time. C'mon, I'll show you the eating room and introduce you to some of the guys."

Siren gave a noncommittal nod, hanging her hands from her pockets.

"So, Mr. Suspicious. Does it bother you having me around?"

Marco didn't reply immediately, tilting his head to the side. Eventually a small grin flitted across his face.

"It doesn't bother me. You can't do anything to us anyway, eh."

"Oh really?" Amusement shone boredly in her eyes.

"Yea. Witch or not, you're out-numbered. Besides, without us you can't get what you want."

Siren stared at him for a moment before her eyebrows, somehow, raised higher. "I'm relieved. I actually don't like when people dislike me for no real reason." She chimed with a little smile.

"Ah, we'll treat you just fine, if you don't do anything stupid."

When they reached the dining room, Siren could believe what he just said. Their ears had instantly been hit with the sounds of laughter, cheering, joyful talk. In one corner some drunken men were singing. It had a strong feel of a school's lunchroom during some select holiday.

"C'mon, c'mon." Marco beckoned the girl, leading her to a certain table.

The table was covered in a disarray of plates, desserts, and drinks. A couple of people sat there, all stuffing their faces while chatting away. Marco was used to this but Siren was vaguely worried one of them might start choking. Disregarding this notion, she took a seat alongside the First Division's Commander.

"Hello there." One of the table's occupants, a man with a blond up-do, waved to her. "So you really are staying with us for awhile?"

"Yes, I am." She nodded.

"Since you're here, let's put the awkwardness aside. My name's Thatch, nice to meet you."

"Yea, welcome to our ship." Another man, wearing a black top hat and with a silly swirly mustache, grinned. "I'm Vista."

"It's a pleasure, gentlemen."

"See? You'll get along just fine." Marco patted her on the shoulder before helping himself to some food.

"Are you really a witch?" Another one, this time a young man around her age, asked with interest.

"Yes, I am." Siren was careful not to let the exasperation through. That question was starting to bother her a little.

The young man's eyes lit up. With a grin, he continued, "Can you do magic tricks?"

Siren blinked. "Well… yes."

He began to laugh, stuffing a whole bread into his mouth. The feeling of seeing someone choke resurfaced in her mind.

"That's awesome!" Very quickly, he collected himself, leaning on one arm. "The name's Ace, by the way. How about showing us some magic tricks?" Just as quickly as he collected himself did his grin enthusiastically reappear.

Without a word, Siren snatched the orange hat from his head. The men all watched curiously as she peered inside.

"What a filthy hat." She declared. "Don't you ever clean it?"

And with the confidence of any competent magician, Siren reached into the depths of the hat. Her arm sank in deep, deeper than physically possible, only to pull out a bra. She flung it harshly at his face, ignoring the widened eyes, and continued digging through the hat.

He and his fellow crewmates laughed as she proceeded to pull out random little things such as flowers, Barbie dolls, make-up, a few wine bottles, and tiny shiny ribbons, among other assortments of trinkets. Of course, this age-old magic trick wouldn't be complete without a traditional rabbit, which she pulled out last.

"That's it, I think." She sighed, blowing dust out of the hat. "I recommend you house clean more often."

Ace grabbed his hat, looking into it with a mixture of awe and disbelief. His grin never faded, despite any embarrassing objects she may have revealed.

"Here's a gift." Siren, with a lazy point of her finger, transformed the cute rabbit into a white feather duster. "Are there anymore doubts to my witch heritage, gentlemen?" she asked boredly, twirling a spoon between her fingers.

Having started off on a good start, Siren felt a bit more encouraged and thus had no problem meeting the rest of the crew. She spent the day striking up conversations with any random person to see if she got along well with any of them. With the exception of a couple, it went fairly well.

**********

"LAND HO!"

The phrase rung loudly, triggering a sudden bustle and rumble among the ship. Everyone in charge of anchoring did their respective jobs as efficiently as possible, a bit of joy motivating them. It's been weeks since they've last seen land and now they were quite eager to walk upon _terra firma_ for a few hours.

"I was starting to think we were lost." Thatch commented to Marco, who was helping Ace lower the anchors.

"It's about time we found land. I've been aching to go to a bar!" Ace was scanning the island, searching (presumably) for a close by bar.

"I think we could all use a break, eh. And some good Sea King."

At this point Marco was distracted by a Siren walking aloofly by. He didn't hear the joke Thatch just made, nor did he laugh along. He simply watched as Siren exchanged a few words with their Captain.

"What cha' starin' at?" Ace, with his boyhood curiosity, asked. He glanced in the general direction Marco was staring at.

"Nothing, eh." Marco shook his head, looking away quickly.

"That nothing looks more like a something." Vista, who had at some point snuck over, grinned. He tugged idly at his mustache, having spotted Siren. Ace now saw her as well, suddenly smirking.

"You've got quite the taste." Ace noted almost loftily.

"Shut it, eh." Marco was flustered, faintly blushing. "She's prettier than your picks!"

Ace snorted. "You saying I got a bad taste in women?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." He glared.

After a tense moment, they both grinned.

"Oh, ya' got me there." Ace sarcastically sighed. "I know what I have to do now."

"Oh, yea? What's that?"

"Hook you two up."

Marco twitched, scoffing. "Forget it, eh!"

"I think it's a good idea." Thatch interjected jokingly. "You don't have much luck with the ladies on your own."

Once again twitching, Marco shot an annoyed glance at Thatch. "What're we, teenagers?"

"Well," Ace smirked, childishly puffing out his chest. "_I _am a teenager. So is the little lady."

Marco stared blankly at the pair of them, shaking his head.

"We have an island to enjoy." He muttered, walking off.

"Ah, such a bashful lad." Vista chortled.

"Nah. He just doesn't like to have fun." Ace was still smirking. He fixed his eyes upon the young witch. She was staring absent-mindedly at the shore. With her droopy eyes, raised eyebrows, and lightly tanned skin, he could picture her arm-in-arm with Marco very easily. She seemed, in his opinion, the right kind of pretty for him. Subtle, just like the First Commander himself.

"I think we _should_ get them together." He said more seriously.

"You really aren't kidding?" Thatch raised an eyebrow.

"Well…" Ace shrugged. "He could use the company, don't you think?"

After pondering over it for a while, Thatch nodded his agreement. "Very true."

"Ha! Good luck to you both!" Vista laughed.

Ace and Thatch have never really hung out with Siren; at least not as much as Vista has. And Vista couldn't help but notice a few things about the girl. Especially all the times when she was just barely listening, with her eyes clouded over in thought. She was a little slow, the type who couldn't take a hint even if it hit her in the face. Vista glanced one last time at Siren, Ace, and Thatch.

Good luck, indeed!

**********

**A/N- And so ends the second chapter!**

**Siren and Marco?? Oh no! Isn't this an AcexOc fic? Well, yes, it is AcexOc. But what's the fun of going straight into it? A little diversion is always interesting. :D**

**(Can you all tell I love picking on Marco…?)**

**This whole 2-week update works awesomely for me. I hope it doesn't bother any of you, what with the waiting and all. Also, Ace is only a few days older than Siren. I decided to pull an Oda and give Siren my birthday, which happens to be January 6. This makes Ace five days older than her! Yay, what fun!**

**Please review, constructive criticism is always welcome!**


	3. Word Games

"She's gone?" Ace raised an eyebrow, staring incredulously at his fellow Commander.

"Yea." Jozu nodded, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "She left last night after talking to Pops."

"Do you know where to?"

"No. Didn't say for some reason."

Siren has left. Temporarily, but her absence will be for an indefinite amount of time. Whitebeard found this notion to be quite annoying. Upon his honor, and to his great distress, he couldn't ask her anything about what she was up to (no matter how badly he wanted too…); the idea of having one of his sons trail after her often popped up in the course of his thinking. Not that it was possible at the moment because she had already left, but it could be done if she continues to leave in the near future.

Whitebeard heaved a sigh, unable to rid himself of the nagging curiosity.

"Was it such a good idea?" Marco, seeing the look on his Captain's face, approached him. "To have her on the ship, I mean."

"I still stand by my decision to keep her here," he started after some thought. "What concerns me is not knowing much about the girl."

"We could always raid the Marines' Head Quarters, eh. Look up her files."

"She doesn't have any. I looked her up once a bit ago, when she first became wanted, and I didn't turn anything up."

Marco tilted his head to the side, eyebrow rising. "You're kidding. None at all, eh?"

"None." Whitebeard frowned slightly, staring down at his son without really seeing him. There was a moment of silence in which they both thought about the young witch. Both men were perplexed and, for the most part, troubled by her. Though, admittedly, for different reasons. Despite having to be cautious of her, Marco couldn't help his small like for the girl. She was… something interesting, to say the least. Or, perhaps, the fact that her face was a new one among the monotony of the ship was what appealed to him the most. Either way, his desire to not accuse Siren of causing Michael's disappearance left him feeling somewhat guilty; who prioritizes an unfamiliar woman over their own brother?

"Marco." Whitebeard shifted very subtly in his seat. He was blinking peculiarly, a rather odd light suddenly glowing in his worn eyes.

"Yea?" Marco, somehow, felt nervous.

"Get friendly with Siren. Get to know her. I don't care how you come about it, but get her to talk about herself. If you hear anything interesting, let me know."

It took a few seconds for Marco to fully register what was just said. Now it was his turn to blink peculiarly.

"How would I know she ain't lying or som'thing? Girls can be pretty damn ambiguous."

"Liar or not, she's human and is prone to mistakes. Just keep your ear out for any slip o' the tongues she might have."

Having no further objection, and wishing to leave before being told to do some other thing, Marco stalked to his usual spot near the railing. Relief washed over him when he saw Ace and Thatch some distance away, blissfully unaware of the conversation he just had with their Captain.

****

It took Siren a good week to return to the Moby Dick. No one was sure exactly when she returned; she simply appeared one day. The idea of magic occurred to a few (she was a witch, after all). Regardless, she wasn't very willing to discuss her recent venture. When asked by one of the nurses (Maria, maybe), Siren shrugged and with a nonchalant lift of her eyebrows stated, "I've been around."

After about one week of waiting for her return, Thatch was marveled at Ace's unfazed enthusiasm to hook up Siren with Marco. He supposed it was the vigor of youth propelling the lad. As nice as that was for Ace, however, Thatch decided he would be content with just watching.

"Hey, Siren!" Ace gregariously called, plopping himself besides the teenager. She dragged her gaze from the water onto him.

"Hello." She greeted. A small smile honeyed up her cheeks. "As shirtless as ever, I see."

Ace grinned. "I need some wind on my skin. I hate getting stuffy, you know. Anyway, where've you been? We missed your magic tricks."

"Nowhere of interest." She drawled lightly, flicking a speck off of her boot. "Has anything worthwhile happened lately?"

"Nah, not really. We ran into some Marines awhile back, but we kicked their asses."

"Of course." She hummed boredly, leaning back against the wall. "We should be arriving to the next island in a few days. Very lovely place, really."

"You been there before?"

"Once. Back when I first became wanted, I really enjoyed walking by its shops. It has some decent pubs, too."

"Sounds lonely. I bet you would like it more if you went with someone. With an escort, like Marco…" Ace started slowly, eyeing Siren slyly. She seemed oblivious to his look, however, eyes gazing distractedly at the ocean passing them by.

"I don't see why. Alone or with a friend, there isn't much of a difference." She responded placidly. An undeterred Ace pressed on.

"Yea, but what if he goes along with you, just not as a friend, per-sè?"

"…As a stranger? I'm not fond of strangers."

"I don't mean as a stranger." Ace chuckled, running his hand through his hair. "I mean as someone who's more than a friend."

"Oh, so like a brother? Or sister… I suppose that would liven things up a tad…" Siren wandered off, eyes never leaving the ocean's surface. Ace bit back a sigh, blinking.

"…but I have no siblings to bring along." Siren finished. Her eyebrows lowered slightly in thought.

"I actually didn't mean a brother…"

"Oh? But… what else is there?"

"A boyfriend."

With a slight tilt of her head, her eyebrows lifted to their usual spots on her forehead. "You… just said someone who isn't a friend, though."

"A boyfriend isn't really a friend." Ace furrowed his brow.

Siren blinked a couple of times, the focus gradually returning to her eyes. "A boy friend is a friend. It's just a boy. How is that not really a friend?" her drawl was slow, deliberate. With self-restraint Ace was able to hold in his sighs; but no amount of self-restraint could hide his misbelieving frown. He gingerly scratched the back of his head.

"Not a boy friend. A _boyfriend_. Y'know, a guy you kiss and like and stuff like that."

"Oh." Siren turned her gaze towards Ace. "You should really be more clear with your words."

The youthful pirate twitched, frown stretching further down one side of his face. "Right… I'll keep that in mind." He muttered almost sarcastically.

"So how about it?" he continued.

"…How about what, exactly?"

"You and Marco."

"Me and Marco… what?"

"Spending the day together!"

"Weren't you just telling me I should go with a boyfriend instead of a friend…?"

That was it. Ace couldn't resist the impulse to smack his own forehead.

"Jeez, you don't get it." He huffed irritably.

"What precisely am I supposed to be getting?"

"I'm telling you to go out with Marco. As a couple. Boyfriend with Girlfriend? Get it?"

"But Marco isn't my boyfriend, so why would I?"

"You can make him your boyfriend."

"That would be rather pointless. Why would I make him my boyfriend for one day?"

"What're you talking about, 'one day'? You wouldn't need a boyfriend for just one day."

"I don't understand you." Siren crossed her arms, her usually mellow tone opting for a more heightened level. "First you tell me to get a boyfriend, now you're telling me I don't need one. Are you a walking paradox?"

Any and all self-restraint was lost. With a growing twitch ticking in his temple, frown lines exaggerated, and growing exasperation, Ace snapped.

"What's up with you?!"

"I haven't done anything!" Siren defended hotly. "You're the one being uncertain!"

"I'm not being uncertain! You just can't get anything!"

Siren stared at Ace in disbelief. She briskly stood up.

"I like to think I'm intelligent enough to notice your current ill-disposition towards me. I'll leave until you cool off." She shrugged, dusting off her shorts and adjusting her tank top. She promptly walked away from the infuriated pyro.

"So you are back, eh."

Siren cast her eye upon Marco. She felt a twinge of annoyance; not at him, necessarily. Just at the reminder of the disagreement she had with Ace. She inhaled and was careful to keep the annoyance out of her face.

"Yes. For awhile now."

"You hungry? Let's go eat."

"Sure, sure."

The pair walked off to the dining room. Siren was too preoccupied with recollecting herself to notice the small smile which flitted across Marco's face. And Marco was enjoying how close together they were walking too much to care that there was no conversation.

****

At the next island, Siren could be found strolling leisurely through the road with Marco (of her own will, mind). One would think she'd be too annoyed with Ace's stunt to do so (she's be a filthy liar if she said the sight of Marco didn't remind her of that dispute); but she actually found his presence to be much more tranquil than that of the pyromaniac. Or, at least, she wasn't getting worked up over silly word games.

"Out of curiosity," Marco started at some point. "How exactly do you chart the path of the next island?"

"It's a little odd to imagine," she said. "But I suppose if you had to, it would be like physically finding the magnetic field and hooking the compass point onto it."

"By physically you mean magically."

"Yes, of course, but even with magic it is a very tedious thing to do. It takes quite some effort."

"We appreciate it."

"You shouldn't." she gently pursed her lips together. "My motive is too selfish to garner thanks."

"Maybe but you could've gone back on your word by now, eh."

"Simply because I can't return home. That being the case, it's in my best interest to stay where the Marines can't get me."

Marco glanced briefly at her. Cautiously he asked, "You got a home somewhere?"

Siren didn't reply immediately. Instead she chose to gnaw on her inner cheek. A few moments passed. He was about to drop the subject when she finally opened her mouth.

"Yes. The country of Sarasota." A tiny smile suddenly slipped across her face. His eyes widened, both in curiosity and wonder.

"It's a very beautiful place, actually." She drawled lightly. "Even the cities are pretty, despite being modern. Of course, I would call my country beautiful even if it was the ugliest place on earth."

Marco had to admit, he was surprised. A part of him hadn't expected her to answer; much less so adoringly. He raised his eyebrow, wondering how far he could pry.

"I've never heard of Sarasota." He stated. Siren sneered bitterly.

"No one has, not in this world." She said. "It's Witch Country. The World Government resents the wizarding race and therefore keeps our existence a secret."

"How'd they manage that? A country's gotta be hard to hide, eh."

Once again Siren took her time in answering. He waited patiently, hoping he hadn't stepped too far.

"Not really. It's…" she paused, eyebrows lowering. He saw her start to chew her cheeks again. "Well, magic can be very useful. But it can easily be used against its caster. Long ago, my country decided to hide its location from. For safety purposes." She added the last part upon seeing his inquiring look.

"But I suppose at some point the World Government… ah, out-witted us… and from there on we don't exist. I believe they have enough power and influence to erase everyone's memory." She trailed off.

"So that's why you're wanted. The Government don't like your kind."

Siren scoffed. "Believe what you will."

Marco felt a frown form on his face. "That's not it, then?"

She stared impassively at him from the corner of her eye. "I do believe you're being nosy, dear sir. Is it a habit?"

"My bad, eh." He held up his hands, shrugging one shoulder. "I can't help wondering."

"You're very nice, so I'll let it pass." She said in her light drawl.

"Thank you." He chuckled. "But stop calling me sir already. It makes me feel old."

"…Aren't you old?" she stared at him.

"I'm older than you but I ain't that old." He replied gruffly.

"If you say so." She chimed playfully. He narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance.

After a brief moment in which Siren managed to drift into space, Marco was struck with a sudden thought. He waved to get Siren's attention.

"Yes?"

"You're supposedly a Devil Fruit user, right?" he began. She nodded.

"And those Wicca Pirates are known Devil Fruit users, right?" She nodded again.

"How do you know they aren't secretly wizards, like you are?" he concluded.

"I don't. I'm merely guessing." She lazily shrugged.

"Guessing?" Marco blinked.

"It isn't hard to see the difference between magic and Devil Fruit powers. And, well, I just don't think those pirates are magical."

****

A few more weeks into the search for the Wiccas found them in something of a scuffle. They had been sailing along in the moonlit sea. The usual nighttime festivities were taking place. Most, if not all, were drunk. Ace had successfully managed to badger Siren into performing more magic tricks (the same ones never got old, apparently).

That was about the time the first boom of a cannon shouted into the air. A crash followed shortly after, along with a tremendous sway of the ship. Anyone who happened to be standing at the time received a nice bruise from the ground.

"Pops!" one of the men yelled from the Crow's Nest. He looked like he just woke up. "Enemy ship, 3 O'clock!"

With an annoyed sigh Whitebeard looked towards his commanders. "Probably small fry. You all take care of that pain in the ass ship."

Disgruntled, and very eager to resume their partying, all 13 of the Commanders set off to attack. Unfortunately, the enemy ship was much more stubborn than anticipated. They were fairly weak, but decently competent (and heavily heavily armed). Before long, some unlucky few managed to board the Moby Dick.

Whitebeard wasn't very perplexed by this. On the contrary, he found it amusing. The lads seemed somewhat lost, as if not truly knowing why they were attacking in the first place. Or, maybe, they were starting to realize the stupidity in attacking the Whitebeard Pirates. He smirked.

Siren, on the other hand, appeared troubled; not so much facially (she had the same aloof look as always), but her body language was apprehensive. She was keen not to partake in the fighting, merely distancing herself and, on occasion, evading some flying objects (people too). She didn't sit still until the fighting died down.

There were no deaths. Only wounded (the Whitebeard Pirates barely had scratches. How typical.). The opposing force was in the process of being tied up, all the while watching their ship get looted. Whitebeard, smirk never fading, stared at their Captain.

"That was a foolish thing to do, bastard."

The Captain glared.

"Tell me, what did you hope to accomplish? Did you want to take my head?" Whitebeard continued, arrogantly ignoring the glare.

"Tch. Like I'd tell you, asshole." He replied, a mischievous glint glowing in his eyes.

"Getting on my nerves won't work, you know." The big man sighed. "Little brats like you are all hype but no show." That being said, he turned his attention to his sons. "Hurry up and send them on their way. I want to drink some more."

The men sped up as some of the nurses exchanged disapproving glances. Siren sat on the ship's railing. One of the enemy's crewmembers (who was tied up) was gaping at her relentlessly.

"Do you want something?" she asked, eyebrows lifting higher.

"Ain't yah Pamela?" he spat through a swollen lip. Siren stared blankly at him.

"Why would I have such an ugly name?" she uttered, more to herself than him.

"So yah ain't Pamela? Yah look like Pamela…" he continued to eye her.

"The words of a half-beaten man." With a shake of her head, Siren stood up. As she turned to walk away, the man suddenly jumped up.

"Wait! I ain't done lookin' at yah!" he shouted.

"Oy! Leave her alone!" Ace called, marching over. "Stop causin' trouble, will you?"

The man, who had been hopping after Siren, froze.

"I ain't causin' no trouble. I jus' wanna know why this girl be lyin' 'bout her name." his eyes remained glues on the young witch.

"Just because I look like Pamela doesn't mean I am her." She drawled, tucking some hair behind her ear.

"Yah be lyin' something bad, girl." The man was shaking his head. Siren noticed a faint blush on his cheeks.

"Believe what you will." She shrugged.

"C'mon, back to your crew." Ace took a hold of the ropes binding the man. The man yanked away, hopping towards Siren at full speed.

"I say if yah look like Pamela, yah is Pamela!" he growled, coming to a stop one foot in front of her.

"Exactly who is Pamela?" she asked.

"Yah be Pamela." He stubbornly responded. "I kin prove it, too."

"Hey! What're you, drunk or something?" An annoyed Ace grumbled. "Back to your ship, I said."

But before Ace could grab onto the ropes again, the man lunged at Siren. Because he was tied up, he used his teeth to grip her tank top; And, to her immense surprise, managed to tear most of it clean off her body. After the initial surprise, Siren shoved the man away, leaping back with her mouth slightly ajar.

"What the hell!" Within the blink of an eye, Ace had him pinned against the ground. One foot was digging into his back as his right hand pressed the man's face into the ground.

"Look! At her back! Only Pamela gots that there!" the man yelled, albeit stifled.

"Ah, be quiet with this Pamela crap already." Ace fumed. He looked up as Marco came over.

"Oy, oy, what's going on?" Marco stopped upon seeing Siren. Though not because she was half-naked (on any ordinary circumstance that would have been the reason). He stopped because at that time his eyes beheld the most curios of marks imprinted on her back.

****

**A/N- Ha, fin!**

**I would like to apologize to all for my tardiness. I know this should have been posted on Sunday, but school gets in the way. T_T **

**I'm surprised by the amount of Marco fans I'm attracting. But too bad for them, I'm keeping this as AcexOC. I do have plans for Marco, though, so no worries there! :D **

**I am willing to write a few MarcoxSiren oneshots though, if anyone is interested.**

**Anyways, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated! Hell, reviews would be greatly appreciated too! :D**

****DISCLAIMER- I do not own One Piece. One Piece is the sole property of Eiichiro Oda. But Siren is mine!****


	4. Wand what?

"That's an interesting tattoo you've got, girl."

Siren glanced up at the giant of a Captain, face unreadable. She spotted a form of recognition in his eyes.

"Do you know of it, sir?" she asked.

Truthfully, Whitebeard was oblivious. Or ignorant, one of the two. He had definitely seen that mark somewhere before in his long life, if not a misconstrued version of it at the very least. The white "X" inside of a black diamond, with one black line continuing the flow of the "X" outside of the diamond struck a chord deep within his mind.

"Not really." He replied after a moment of consideration. "Tho' I've seen it before."

"Is that so?" Siren momentarily closed her eyes. Without opening them she addressed Marco. "May I wear your shirt?"

"Yea. Here." Marco promptly removed it, tossing it over to the girl without ever looking away from her back.

"Thank you." Siren briskly marched away, neglecting the drunken pirate who had torn her tank top off in the first place. Said pirate was currently being manhandled by Ace and Vista (they wouldn't consider Siren to be a close friend but they didn't much appreciate seeing this form of disrespect towards her. Admittedly, the idea of a drunken man knowing the meaning of respect was a laughable one, but they didn't care).

Whitebeard frowned in thought for a few moments. Before long he pushed the indistinct recognition to the back of his mind. With a noncommittal nod, he gestured that the trouble makers be put on their ship and sent away.

****

Siren disappeared again. This time she didn't mention anything to anyone.

How annoying.

****

With the tense mannerisms of an annoyed wife, Whitebeard huffed out a sigh. His five main commanders sat within his range, each waiting for their Father to speak.

"Nothing, then?" he muttered. "They really didn't have anything on the Wicca Pirates?"

Each commander gave their own form of saying no.

"Only that their captain is a man named James." Vista said.

"But even then they only had his first name," Jozu added. "And a picture."

"Shit, what a useless government!" Whitebeard growled. "Can't even get decent information on people!"

"It's strange, ain't it?" Thatch leaned back on his arms, staring thoughtfully at his Captain. "They've got nothing on the Wiccas and nothing on the little missy."

"Is coincidence believable?" Vista wondered, curling one tip of his mustache between his fingers. Whitebeard looked towards his First Commander, who sat silently the whole time.

"You've spoken to her a couple o' times now. Have you heard anything interesting?"

"Well," Marco tilted his head to one side. "She told me where she's from. Some country named Sarasota. Supposedly the Government's keeping it a secret from the world. She said they don't like witches, eh."

"Sarasota?" Whitebeard mumbled, the familiar sensation of recognizing something without really knowing it rushed back to him. He lapsed into a profound silence, sifting through every file of memory for any hints as to why he recognized that name. Did he come upon it once? Saw it on a map? Heard of it in the passing wind? Or perhaps he heard a different name, one very similar in syntax and pronunciation. Gripping the arm of his chair tighter, he felt himself getting very annoyed at not be able to recall anything.

In the end, the aged Captain decided to take a nap before he became anymore frustrated and bothered. The Commanders hoped he would cool down, each leaving to go about their usual business. None of them were as perplexed as Marco, who was at odds with himself.

He really did have a liking for the young witch, it even being reminiscent of a longing (not to be annotated perversely; he longed for her company, not her intimacy). But, really, he knew nothing about her. He didn't even know if he could trust her! Without trust, how could there be anything else?

His mind idly wandered to a few nights ago, when he saw the tattoo on her back. Do you know of it, she had asked his Captain. Did that imply something? What did it imply? Was it well known? Or was it only known by certain people, a select group? Or maybe it was one of those brand marks, like that of the slaves. Do you know of it — did she expect them to know it? Or did she anticipate a 'no'? Maybe it's someone's Jolly Roger. Maybe it's the Wicca Pirates Jolly Roger — come to think of it, he wasn't sure what their Jolly Roger was. Marco frowned.

Maybe it was just a tattoo, with no significant meaning. Of course he didn't believe that option.

Marco sighed, deeper than any ever released. For a few blissful moments, the whole entity of his mind became clear. Resigned, he leaned back against the railing of the ship.

He would find out. Everything that he could. He would find a definition for Siren, one that explained in full detail the whole of her life. All he needed was a start to go on.

***

As luck would have it, it turned out to be Ace who found out a tad more about the young witch. It's not that he planned it, nor did he really try. Opportunity merely presented itself and he, so young and eager and ill-knowledged, took it.

Upon arrival to the next designated island the ship was anchored and everyone was left to their own business and wishes. Ace, finding the little empty town to be boring, wandered off to stroll through the forest. Just as he started to marvel at the fact that every island they've visited had a forest, his eyes spotted a very familiar gait slouching in the distance. In long, cool strides, Siren stepped over scattered foliage. She walked with an air of confidence, as if seeing and following a path in the ground. Siren had returned a few days prior to docking, being as vague as the first time she had left. This had left the pyro with a sense of wonderment.

And so he followed her. Quietly. With his devil fruit power, he was able to float above all the fallen leaves and twigs. Siren, with her absent-minded trait, was none the wiser.

Many turns and minutes later, she came to a halt. She stared off ahead of herself. There was a clearing there, a meadow of grass and weeds. The trees were heavy and their bodies twisted out heavenwards, branches decked in shiny olive green leaves. Even mightier than the trees were their corresponding shadows which penetrated so deep into the circular clearing that the area had but a small diameter of sunlight passing through.

Ace watched Siren intently, no longer floating after her in his fiery state. As she walked towards the center of light, he submerged himself within the roots of the trees, completely hidden (he was fortunate to have left his conspicuous orange hat in his room). When she reached the light, she ceased her movements.

Silent minutes ticked by in which Siren contemplated the spot. Her hazel eyes were focused sharply on it, frown pulling the corners of her lips down her long face. No breeze blew life into the moment. No animals sang their usual songs. This lack of activity gave the area an eerie atmosphere; as if nothing with a heartbeat belonged.

Siren lifted her right hand, letting it hang over the center of the lighted circle. She began walking along the edge of it, the defined difference between bright and dark. Shortly after this break in tension, she closed her eyes. Ace squinted, leaning forward, brows furrowed in a fantastic mix of curiosity and ignorance.

The young witch let her hand drop back to her side, opening her eyes. She took a few steps back and resumed watching the spot. The intensity of her stare was contagious; Ace found himself devoting his full attention to the lighted circle. His eyes were beginning to strain. He could swear the air seemed distorted.

Though he wouldn't be wrong for swearing that. The air, in fact, was becoming distorted. It visibly rippled and pulled and stretched and kneading itself repeatedly. The sunlight expanded, causing the shadows to recede closer to their physical counterparts. The ground elevated slightly, about a foot or two more than before. Siren watched, satisfied, calmly, as a brick building appeared.

It was a dusty building, gray, worn out and with a few erosion-damage spots. The weeds of the meadow crawled their way up the circular, two-story wall in torrents. They covered everything but the door; which, with a jolt, Ace realized it carried the same mark imprinted on it as could be seen on Siren's back. She approached the door, running her fingers delicately over the mark. As if alive, the door jumped at her touch, opening wide. She entered without hesitation. Ace cautiously followed.

Immediately following the door was a staircase, one that spiraled up to the second floor. Evidently Siren went up there for she wasn't in the bottom one when Ace entered. He sneaked his way up the steps.

On the second floor, he sat himself down on the highest step. Siren stood beside what resembled a sundial, except it had a pale blue glow emitting from it. Every now and then sparks would shoot from it. In one hand, the girl held a compass; the other hand reached into the glow. It didn't take long for the Commander to realize this was how Siren knew where to lead their ship.

In the time that Siren spent grappling around with the bizarre device, Ace noticed a few pictures and books hanging around. Knowing she was too distracted to notice anything, he figured it would be alright to have a look around.

All of the pictures held unfamiliar faces. Each person was a different age and sex, though their attire were very loosely reminiscent of each other's; the color scheme repeated every now and again. Aside from clothing, the people all had one other thing in common; wands. They all held wands. A variety of them. Some were nicely crafted with intricate decorations. Others were simple pieces of wood with high polish. Some were quite long. Others, small.

Ace found himself glancing over at Siren, to her hands. He frowned very slightly, not seeing a wand anywhere on her. He turned his eyes away from her, now looking at the bookshelf. The leather-bound covers had titles in gold embossed onto their spines. He read the titles, not fully understanding a few which consisted of foreign words. The ones he did understand read things like, '_Wizardry Through the Ages'_, '_The Truth about Wandlore'_, and '_How to Hide your Secret Fortress 101'_. The one book that caught his eye had no words but one mark; the same mark as the door, the one on Siren's back. He pulled it out carefully.

_The Few, the Proud, the Wandless,_ read the cover page. Wand-less? Ace could feel his face perking. He flipped through it with much gusto, scanning the pages, taking in every sentence. _Wandless witches and wizards have been around for centuries… on the verge of extinction… random inheritance…_

"Having fun, are you?" Siren's light drawl just barely reached his ears. He looked up, surprised to find her standing but a foot apart.

"Actually, I am." He smirked.

"I never imagined you to be the stalker type, sir." Her eyebrows were raised high, expression impassive.

"Nah, I ain't a stalker."

"Oh? Then you just happened to take the same route as me?"

When Ace didn't reply, Siren exhaled, her eyes drooping more than usual.

"You didn't have to 'secretly' follow me here, Ace. If you had simply asked me where I was going, I would have told you."

Ace placed one hand on his hip, smirk fading. He narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit. You never tell us where you head off to."

"Don't misunderstand me. My agreement with your captain is that when I leave the ship, the crew — for weeks at a time — no one is allowed to ask of my destination or actions. However, when I am actually with the crew, and I haven't left the ship save to disembark on an island, such as now, I could care less if anyone asked me what I'm up to. More likely than not, I am doing something related to your crew."

"Alright, I get it. I apologize for not knowing the difference before." Ace lifted the book he was holding and waved it in front of her face. She eyed it warily.

"Since we're here, mind explaining a couple of things to me?" he asked.

"I think," she shrugged. "It's self-explanatory. If anything, just read to your heart's content."

"I don't like reading much, really. It'd be easier if you told me straight off."

"You're fairly intelligent. I'm sure you have grasped a connection by now. Or am I wrong…?"

"Well," Ace started. "I'm guessing you're a wandless witch. And I'm guessing that mark on your back proves it."

"What more need you to know, then?" she mused.

"How come that mark appears if you're wandless? Is it special or something?"

"No, it isn't a special inheritance. It's just rare now a days, courtesy of that lovely World Government. As to why the mark appears, I have no idea. Yet." She turned towards the stair and began descending to the first floor.

"I have the compass ready to go. You best enjoy the island before we spend weeks overseas again."

Ace stared at the book in his hand. He swiftly tucked it away before taking Siren's advice.

****

Later on, when Ace returned to the Moby Dick, he didn't get a chance to tell anyone his findings. The crew was in something of an uproar. Whitebeard sat in his usual spot on the deck. In front of him were two people in black cloaks. The backs of the cloaks were decorated with Jolly Rogers wearing witch hats; the symbol of the Wicca Pirates.

"Oi, Thatch! What's going on?" he asked, eyes never leaving his Father and the Wicca crewmembers.

"Looks like their Captain's annoyed with us. Sent two messengers to tell us off." Thatch replied, amused grin in place.

"Annoyed with us? The hell are they thinking?" Ace scoffed. "Bastards messed with us first."

"Apparently that ship we looted awhile ago was one of theirs, eh." Marco, having been there the whole time, added. "I think they're negotiating something. Or trying to, eh."

The Captain of the Wicca Pirates, Captain James, was very annoyed at Whitebeard. Through some way he came to realize that Whitebeard was following him. So he sent two of his men to investigate. During this confrontation, nothing was said, by them, about the missing Michael; the only thing spoken of was a deal. Captain James was offering a great deal of gold and rum to the Whitebeard Pirates, in return Whitebeard has to consent to stop tailing him.

Whitebeard, naturally, and rather menacingly, declined, stating that no amount of materialistic goods could stop him from accomplishing his fatherly duties. He then proceeded to interrogate them, trying to get them to admit they had taken Michael. And though they didn't respond nor confess, the way their bodies tensed hinted at the truth.

Of course, having failed their mission, they left, fearing they were in danger. Even though they were being watched by all, they somehow managed to leave without being seen; this threw everyone into disarray. And, shortly recovering from the shock, all of the Whitebeard Pirates searched as far as they could for the now gone Wiccas, hoping to follow them. All in vain.

Everyone had been so preoccupied with finding the two Wicca messengers that they failed to realize Siren's absence. In a few days, when the tumult died down, Marco was the first to notice. It struck him as strange and he wondered if the timing was coincidental. He sincerely doubted that, of course.

****

Eventually, Siren did return. She went missing for longer than the first few times. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her usually slouchy gait was just plain sluggish. No one bothered asking her where she went, knowing full well she wouldn't give a decent answer.

One day, Marco sat watching the young witch. His mind was torn between wanting to trust her but not being sure if it would be a good idea. At some point, Ace had gotten around to explaining the mark on her back to him. He even presented the book he had nicked from the building. This had put Marco's mind at ease, in that regards.

But now the timing of her recent disappearance coinciding with the departure of the Wicca messengers was really bothering him. He couldn't decide if it was a bad thing or a good thing. She could have been trying to follow them, just as his crew had wanted to. Maybe she even did get to, but lost them half-way through. Or, adversely, she helped them get away. They could be conspiring against Whitebeard.

With his foot bouncing in tune with his thoughts, he watched as Ace approached Siren. Interesting enough, Ace didn't seem bothered by not knowing if she could be trusted or not. He, apparently, was still keen on hooking her up with the First Commander, despite Marco not having decided if it was fine to do so. And Marco, having considered this absurdity, concluded that Ace's definition of a girlfriend didn't take trust into consideration.

Whether this was true or not, Ace sat himself Indian-style next to Siren.

"Hey little witch." He grinned. Siren lifted her eyebrow higher.

"Little? You aren't much older than me. A few days, at most."

"So? I'm still older."

Siren relaxed her face, a small smile snailing across her cheeks. "Sure, sure, is it makes you feel better."

"Actually, it does." His grin widened. She hummed boredly, taking a sip from the cup in her hands.

"I've got a question for you." Ace stated. Siren glanced at him.

"I'm listening."

Ace leaned on one elbow, pushing his hat out of his face.

"Do you like Marco?"

"He's a decent man." She jerked her head in a half-nod.

"Alright. So do you _**like**_ him?"

"You just asked me that." She drawled placidly. Deciding he hadn't been blunt enough, the kid decided to re-phrase his question.

"My bad. I meant to ask if you would ever take him as your boyfriend."

Siren blinked once, twice, before turning her eyes upon Ace. Narrowing them very slightly, she asked uncertainly, "By 'boy friend', you mean…"

"Boyfriend. The kissing kind, not the 'boy who is a friend' kind." He couldn't help the amused smirk. For some reason, he found her cautious uncertainty to be rather cute (it beats her slowness by a long shot).

"Would I take Marco as my boyfriend?" Siren repeated, now able to comprehend the question. "Wouldn't it depend on where we go?"

"You're thinking in terms of a date. I meant it in general." He pointed out.

"Oh. _In general_?" she stared at her cup in thought. "Would I take him as my boyfriend?" she repeated again.

After a long and deliberate pause, Siren glanced up at the patiently waiting Ace.

"I would have to, wouldn't I?" she asked in her light drawl. Ace stared at the girl, unsure of what to say.

"You would have to?" he echoed in confusion.

"I don't screw people I'm not partnered to with, so of course I would take Marco as my boyfriend. If he weren't my boyfriend and I still took him, I'd feel like a whore." She explained briskly, simply, as if that made complete and utter sense. Ace gaped at her, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Did she really—? He thought she understood his question! How did she misunderstand? He knew, sexually, guys could take girls, but could girls take guys (it sounds awkward… maybe manly girls could take someone?)…?

Ace, too perturbed to continue, was saved by Thatch, who came walking over.

"The old man wants to see us." The blond informed them. He paused upon seeing the look of incredibility plastered on Ace's face. "Something wrong?"

"You don't want to know." Ace shook his head.

"Does Whitebeard want to see me as well?" Siren asked.

"Yup, you too." Thatch nodded.

Without another word, they headed off to see the Captain.

****

**A/N- A few things: First I'd like to address a concern that Tycha had. She asked me, "If you have other plans for Marco, isn't it sorta pointless for MarcoxSiren?"**

**No, it isn't pointless. My reason for going into this Marco stuff is that I want Siren to grow. Right now, she's 18 and immature. She's not much of a character. Her relationship with people and her social skills, in general, are pretty crummy. The way I see it, being with Marco would help her become more… what's the phrase? Socially apt? **

**Also, I just don't like the idea of Siren getting married/ falling in love with her first boyfriend. :/ I have never ever ever met anyone lucky enough to find their true love on the first try. Everyone I know/met is either on their 4****th**** boyfriend or divorced twice. So if I were to go straight into Ace, make them fall in love after months of hardships, and live happily ever after, well… I know that would truly be fantasy fiction and it would just feel way too fake. I hope that makes sense to you all…**

**Anyway, thank you for bringing that up. It gave me a chance to explain things. :D**

**Also, Kira Hukyuushi, the MarcoxSiren one shot you asked for will be up sometime tomorrow. ^_~**

**As for the rest of you? Go review! Feedback keeps me alive! XD**


	5. Familiarity!

Siren sat on her bed one day, watching the waves come and go through the window on her wall. The night before, Whitebeard had called them all (the commanders and Siren) into his room, bearing a warning. Being the cautious person he was, he wanted to make sure they all would take care and be wary, to keep an eye out for anyone out of the ordinary. A ridiculous sentiment, since everyone in the New World was out of the ordinary, but it was understood what he meant. With Captain James of the Wicca Pirates now knowing of their search, one never knew if he might strike. Another crewmate may just disappear, as poor Michael had. And Siren, slow as she was, didn't have trouble picking up the unease some felt around her.

She knew they were suspicious of her. She also knew they didn't trust her, despite how friendly they behaved. It didn't bother her. There was nothing she could do to gain their trust even if she wanted it, so she decided to let the situation resolve itself. Until then, she would be content with sitting in the room, all day, speaking only when some of the nurses wished for idle chit-chat.

Up above on the deck, Marco lounged with some of his crewmates, conversing about any random thing they felt like. The entire day passed by like this, with nothing interesting happening. It wasn't until dinner time that he noticed Siren's absence. Curious (and nosy), he went below to look for her. A part of him hoped she hadn't left again.

"So you are here." He said as he entered the room, spotting her on the bed in the far corner. She glanced over at him.

"Where else would I be?" she asked, giving a half-hearted shrug.

"I dunno. You always find some place to leave to."

To this she gave a careless gesture, her focus returning to the window. Marco frowned, placing a hand on his hip.

"What's the matter with you, eh? You look more outta it than usual."

Siren blinked, shaking her head as if a fly came by too close.

"What?"

"I said you look more outta it than usual." He repeated, taking a few steps closer. She stared at his face, eyebrows high; he tilted his head, his own brow furrowing.

"I'm fine. I assure you." She said after a pause, face relaxing. "I just didn't feel like being under the sun today."

Marco's frown deepened.

"Alright, if you're fine then let's go eat dinner."

"I'll pass, thank you."

Marco crossed his arms over his chest, huffing an irritated breath.

"Why? Don't tell me you ain't hungry."

"Very well, I won't. But I think it's implied." A playful little smile lifted her lips. He narrowed his eyes.

"Oy, now, don't be like that." He said. Siren hummed, laying on the bed with her arms behind her head.

"If I'm not hungry, sir, then I shan't eat. Don't take the rejection so personally."

Marco twitched, sitting on the edge of her bed. He noticed she had her eyes closed; her glasses were off as well. Hey, her face was kind of long…

"Siren…" he started, refusing to acknowledge the desire to lie down next to her beating in his mind.

"Yes?"

He kept silent, fixing his gaze on her form. She remained oblivious to his close inspection, never once opening her eyes. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, inhaling exhaling a cycle of breaths. The smile never quite died, still decorating her cheeks.

"Stop calling me 'sir', eh. You've been around long enough to just call me Marco, I think."

"I call everyone 'sir'." She said in a lazy drone. "It's called respect."

"It's only respectful if the person wants to be called 'sir'. It ain't respectful otherwise. Am I right?"

"Mm. Fine. I'll only call you Marco." She opened her eyes, shifting towards him. "Now I have a question for _you_, Marco."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. What's with that Ace boy always asking me stuff about you? And he always gets mad at me afterwards!"

Amusement crossed his face in the form of a grin.

"Ah, he's an idiot. Just tell 'im to shut up and ignore him."

"So you have no idea why he's like that?"

"Nope. He was probably bonked on the head as a baby."

Siren chuckled, tracing patterns into the bed with her finger.

"Shame, really. He's only nice when he isn't bugging me."

"I can tell him to stop, y'know."

"Would you? That'd be so ni—"

"I'll make him stop bugging you," he cut her off. "If you come up and eat dinner with me."

"What, ultimatum? How can you be so crass?"

A smirk crossed his face. "So, what's it gonna be?"

She let her eyebrows drop, taking a moment to consider her options.

"No. No, I don't think so." She grabbed her pillow and smacked him over the head with it. He let out an indignant scoff, wondering in his subconscious why he hadn't just dodged it with his Zoan prowess.

"I'll eat dinner with you when we get to the next island. Not today, though."

"You promise?"

"Yes, yes, I promise. I'll even save my disappearing act for afterwards."

Marco smiled. "Alright then."

He stood up, uncrossing his arms to let them hang from his pockets.

"Goodnight, Marco." Siren called, closing her eyes again.

"'Night." When he walked out of the room, he found he couldn't stop smiling. Perhaps he wasn't as bad with the ladies as Ace always told him he was.

****

The day they reached the next island, Marco was pleased to see Siren being social. Or, rather, as social as her aloof behavior allowed her to be.

"It looks interesting here." She said, taking one sweeping glance of the town.

The place had a rustic feel to it, trees and hills tall and visible. Yet at the same time the wooden buildings were very artsy, with metallic windows placed in intricate patterns and walls of painted complimenting colors. Cleanliness governed the area, the only thing smearing the surfaces being paintings and air-brushed pictures.

The people themselves had a sort of refined sophistication, holding themselves with an air of patient observation. Their choice of wardrobe ranged from pure black to colorful and trendy. Siren spotted a few covered in splatters of acrylic.

"Ick." Marco grimaced. "Looks complicated. I think simple things are better."

"Sometimes, maybe." She drawled. She began walking at a deliberate pace, looking at everything as if examining rare delicacies.

"Many of my friends were artists." She stated.

"Back home, you mean?"

"Yes…" she trailed her fingers over the different walls, lingering each time she came upon a painting. "They were very talented."

Her voice remained impassive, expression unflinching.

"You're not just saying that 'cause they're your friends, are you?"

"Maybe. I tend to be prejudiced."

As they continued walking, Marco couldn't help but notice the wavering look in her eyes, in her mannerisms. To be honest, Siren noticed herself. She didn't mean to be so fickle. But all of this— this art, this creativity, this diversity in shape form lines colors, the surrealism of the atmosphere surrounding the island— it all reminded her of home. Of Sarasota, her beloved country.

Over two years ago… she remembered it well. Over two years ago marked the beginning of her "exile". The beginning of her troubles, of her travels, of her detachment. She missed her friends, the fun, the laughter. Having companions. Not that she would admit it; no, never. Such vulnerability would haunt her to no end.

Of course, actions speak louder than words. After mentioning her artistic friends, Marco had a hunch that the lapse of silence lead to thoughts about them. And though he didn't know her very well, he thought it safe to assume that, being human, Siren still felt attachment to her old friends.

"Instead of dinner," he said loudly, interrupting her thoughts. "Why not we have lunch?"

When she didn't respond, he continued. "Unless you want to get all nostalgic, eh?"

"I'm not getting nostalgic." She said indifferently. Nope, she would never admit it. Never. "Though lunch does sound good."

And she smiled one of her languid smiles, walking ahead of him with such casual elegance. He paused for a moment, sighing, wondering why the younger generation was so intent on being stubborn and proud. With a shake of his head he followed her.

On their way to lunch, a sudden prick crawled up the spine of Siren's back. She rubbed her neck, casting a quick glance around. Other then that she remained unfazed, having an idle chat with the First Commander. The sensation only intensified however much she tried to ignore it. It got to the point where she became very distracted, too distracted to feel hungry.

"Marco," she began, careful to keep her voice steady. "I don't actually want lunch. How about we stick to dinner?" Marco's eyebrow shot up momentarily.

"…Sure, that's fine." He consented after some consideration.

"I think I'll go to work on the Log Pose."

"There's no rush, y'know." Marco crossed his arms. "We like enjoying ourselves, eh."

"Perhaps you do. I, on the other hand, need to be doing something. Besides, the sooner I reach the Wiccas, the better."

Despite having said that decisively, as if to end the discussion, Marco had no interest in dropping the subject. He kept a cautious eye upon her.

"What's your deal with the Wiccas?" he asked.

"That doesn't concern you, now does it…?"

"It kind of does."

"Is that so? I fail to see how."

"You're on our ship, eh. We're helping you out. I think we deserve to know _something_."

"You do know something." She said lightly. "You know that I'm after the Wiccas. You know that I'm helping your Captain reach them. You know about Witch Country. You know about Wandless Wizards, somewhat. In fact, you know much more about me than I do about you. Can you say that _I_ have ever been nosy? Have I ever asked you a million and one questions about things which don't concern me? I don't even know the name of your kidnapped comrade. If _anyone_ deserves to know something, it's me. Or do you disagree…?"

There was something poisonous in her tone, an infliction which made Marco recoil. He pursed his lips together, tapping his fingers against his arms.

"I get it. You want me to stop asking you questions." He said. "No need to get so defensive."

"I'm not getting defensive." Her tone never rose over a light drawl, but annoyance was very easy to detect. Marco rolled his eyes, his earlier thought of the young ones being stubborn resurfacing in his mind.

"Yeah, yeah," he tried to relax himself. "But you're welcome to ask us anything you like."

"If it isn't relevant towards me, I don't need to know."

Marco heaved a heavy sigh, counting in his head to keep his aggravation in check. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn!

"I'll see you for dinner." He said. Siren gave a curt nod before walking off.

****

By the time dinner came, both seemed to have calmed down. Siren didn't have much of a temper, anyway (and Marco was Marco, the oh so tolerant man). And she did look forward to dinner with him, even if she didn't express it.

As fate would have it, though, they wouldn't be dinning alone.

They were walking towards a little pub, having a conversation about the monsters they've encountered (Marco claimed Sea Kings to be worst but Siren insisted that the giant tortoises were more frightening). When they entered the homey little pub with the wooden tables, the familiar prick from a few hours ago made Siren flinch. Marco didn't question it, simply choosing to stare as she glanced around. After a tense few seconds she gave a shake of her head, sitting down and motioning for him to do the same. She didn't notice the eyes studying her from afar.

Nor did she notice the burly man with the messily rugged hair, his scruffy face hanging in astonishment.

"Siren…" the man muttered to himself. He stood up, taking a closer look. She glanced up again, at first briefly. Her eyes didn't register what she saw right away, though, and when they did she snapped them right back to the man.

"_Siren? Siren Vàrgaz?" _The man called, booming voice riddled with disbelief. Her eyes widened, hand clasping to her chest.

"…Steinberg…?" she said.

There was a moment in which both of them stayed still, scrutinizing one another as if determining whether or not they were hallucinating. But as the seconds ticked by the certainty of reality clicked; a wide grin spread across Siren's face, revealing white teeth and red gum as an energetic tumult seized her features. She jumped to her feet and ran to the man, Steinberg, all but knocking him over in one huge hug.

Steinberg lifted her high up, throwing his head back in wild laughter, repeating the words "Holy Hell" over and over again, a broken record. He even spun her around; and they danced like that for a good fair minutes, one laughing one clinging, as Marco stared, dumbfounded, from a safe distance. When the couple finally pulled away, they didn't want to step too far back.

"Professor Steinberg." Siren said in one breath, eyes glued to his face.

"Holy bloody hell, Siren!" he placed his hands on his hips. "You aren't little anymore!"

Siren flicked some hair from her face. "Of course not. Everyone grows."

"_Holy hell_, Siren!" Steinberg kept laughing.

"You…" Siren closed her eyes, grin still in place. "Good lord, I'm confused."

"Weren't expecting to see me, were you?"

"No, not at all. Come, let's sit before I faint." Siren led her old professor to the table she and Marco sat at. She kept glimpsing at the man, vaguely wondering if this was a dream.

"What's this now?" Steinberg smirked, spotting Marco. "Are you on a date, my little chicky-doo?"

She blinked. "No, no, it's just dinner." Steinberg laughed.

"If you say so."

"Who is this?" Marco asked, unable to keep back his curiosity (It reached its peak and she seemed too elated to snap at him for "being nosy", so he figured it was worth a try).

"He's an old Professor of mine. From back home."

Marco raised his eyebrows. "So he's a wizard?"

"Yea. And a damn good one, too." Steinberg answered for her. Siren, still grinning, leaned against one arm.

"I'm still confused." She said. "Wizards aren't allowed out of Sarasota. How are you here?"

"Snuck out." Her professor shrugged. "A lot has changed since you left, you know."

"Really? Like what?"

"Well… let's just say rebellion is in the air."

Siren's grin melted into a sly smile, eyes glinting. Steinberg shifted, eyes narrowing a fraction. "You don't know anything, do you?"

"No professor." She said in a delicate tone, becoming very interested in her nails. "I haven't been anywhere near home for ages, after all."

"Hm! Whatever, chicky-doo." Steinberg turned to peer at Marco. In a more serious manner he said, "You're from the Whitebeard Pirates, aren't you?"

Marco nodded. "Yeah."

"Siren, why are you traveling with pirates?"

"We're doing each other favors. We have a mutual agreement concerning the Wicca Pirates."

"Wicca Pirates…—? Oh! You mean Vonnegut's men!"

Siren and Marco exchanged glances before looking up at Steinberg.

"Vonnegut?" Siren said, frowning. "I'm sure their captain is named James."

Steinberg shook his head. "His full name is James Vonnegut."

"And who exactly is this Vonnegut guy?" Marco asked.

"You should know, Siren." Steinberg said, a hint of sternness in his voice. Her eyebrows reached an all time high as she leaned back into her seat.

"I should know…? Why…?"

"Didn't you ever pay attention in school?"

"Not really. I got bored."

Steinberg sighed, all of the frown lines in his face forming. Marco chuckled at her bluntness.

"James Vonnegut was one of Sarasota's past Ministers. He was banished from the country for telling the World Government about those marks you Wandless are born with. In other words, he's the reason for the mass execution of your kind. Did you _really_ not pay attention to my lectures, girl?"

Siren ignored the last comment. "Seriously now? Why would he tell them that?"

"Not much is known about it. If you had paid attention in class, you would know those records were destroyed a long time ago."

"I was young. What child in their right mind cares about history?"

"Hm! How the hell did you pass me tests?"

"I cheated."

She laughed as her old professor puffed out a hot breath. Marco, on the other hand, was trying to make sense of what he just heard. _Mass execution of your kind_? A mass execution of Wandless? But Siren's alive, breathing and laughing… and on the run.

James Vonnegut… so that's his whole name. It struck him as odd; he felt almost certain that he'd heard that name somewhere before. Unless he was imagining things, but he doubted that. Perhaps that name was on file somewhere in the Marine Headquarters, and they had simply overlooked it.

"Ay, little chicky-doo!" Steinberg threw his hands in the air with aggrieved gusto.

"Come now, it isn't as serious as you're making it out to be. In any case, I have more things to ask."

"Ask away…" Steinberg waved his hand half-heartedly.

"Why did you sneak out of the country?"

"I've been looking for you, of course!"

Siren tilted her head to the side. "Why?"

"Whaddaya mean 'why'? 'Cause I've been damn worried of the two of you!"

The effect was instantaneous; she sat up straight as her body stiffened. Her eyebrows descended from their perch on her forehead.

"What's the matter?" Steinberg glanced to Marco, who shrugged.

"I forget, is all." She said, voice impassive. "I'm the only one who knows."

Steinberg blinked, frown reappearing. "Knows what?"

"That Vincent's dead." It came out in one breath, tone very light and careless. It was almost casual. It took Steinberg a good few thoughts to actually hear what she said.

"He's _dead_? But… _no_! Are you sure?"

Her eyes widened as she scoffed. "Honestly, Professor, I wouldn't lie about that. I would never— don't ever—… _honestly_, Professor, I would be sure if he's dead or not."

"I… suppose." There was a definite drop in his vigor; his shoulders slumped as he slouched into his seat, no longer frowning but not smiling either. He stared at Siren, without seeing her, unconsciously drumming his thumb on the table top.

"How long has he been dead?"

"Two years one month one week." She listed without hesitation. Marco, feeling as if he didn't belong here at the moment, marveled at how fast she answered. A stretch of silence ensued, holding a tension in the atmosphere.

"It's getting late, eh." Marco said, snapping the two out of their reveries. Siren blinked, staring at him as if she hadn't known he was there. She probably forgot, being the absent-minded person she was.

"Right." She tugged at her tank top, clearing her throat. "Professor, where are you staying?"

"This little hotel near the coast. I was thinking of heading back to Sarasota tomorrow, but now that I've found you I don't feel like it."

"I haven't a place to offer you." She frowned, gnawing on the inside of her cheeks.

"Don't be stupid, eh. I told you we like enjoying ourselves. We'll probably be onshore for a week, two weeks if we're lucky." Marco said.

"Excellent!" Steinberg stood up, a new grin fitting itself onto his face. "I've got things to tell you, Siren! Many things!"

"Oh, I can only imagine."

The trio left the pub (they forgot to pay, but they didn't care). Marco walked ahead of the two, straining his ears to hear anything of relevance, anything of interest, as they spoke of many things (though the phrase 'Gossiped of many things' would describe their conversation better). As he thought over the events of the night in his head, plagued with his unquenchable curiosity, he remembered that Whitebeard had always wanted to follow Siren around. If they were cautious, perhaps they could get someone to follow Steinberg around instead. He appeared the much more knowledgeable one.

Maybe, with a little convincing, he could get Ace to do it. Marco glanced one last time at the Professor and the Young Witch as both turned to go to the hotel. An opportunity has just presented itself.

****

**A/N- And there's chapter 5! I'm a few hours late, but I don't think that's too bad, right? :)**

**A few things:**

**Dear dear Tycha! You SHOULD get an account. That would make me very happy. And my response to your concern: Yes, I have considered the fact that Ace and Marco are brothers in the Whitebeard family. And I do intend to keep that in mind, and I **_**won't**_** make this story into some cheesy angsty drama "ZOMFG!!!" kind of story. It will remain light-hearted. :D**

**And now, to all of my readers: I wanted to ask if I'm going too fast with this story? Or if I'm going too slow? I was reading Stephen King's "On Writing" (a superbly awesome book, by the way) and King mentioned something about it's better to get the back story out of the way quickly so that you can get to the plot faster. But I think if I try to get the back story in right now, in one go, it'd be way too much and would ruin everything. Any advice?**

**Please review! They keep me alive! **


	6. Snooping

A sigh could be heard coming from the young Second Division Commander, who found himself unable to remember when he agreed to this. Marco came up with the idea; why not have him do it? Ace felt certain the actual invention of it hadn't used up so much strength as to render Marco incapable of doing it himself. Laziness is the true incapacitant here. Damn his luck.

At the moment he sat upon a roof. Not a very discreet place but it offered him a view of the hotel Steinberg currently inhabited. Who, by the way, has yet to leave his room. All this waiting bugged Ace to no end, who would much rather go eat or find a nice girl to drink with. It may be true that Siren has done nothing to prove her innocence, nothing at all to blow away the suspicions clouding her every move, but what right did they have to penetrate her privacy with constant snooping? As long as she didn't do anything to any of them, she could be trusted on a basic level. Seeing as to how she won't be joining the crew that should be enough.

Or, perhaps, Ace felt the need to make excuses for her in the hopes of not having to play Private Investigator for the day. Unfortunate luck sided with him, though; being the youngest member of the crew, no one would listen to his opinions. Whitebeard may be the only one to hear him out. For what it's worth, though, he'd still be stuck doing this since his Old Man was the keenest one to find out about Siren. Ace wondered why older people were so intent on being nosy.

Ignoring his train of thought, Ace perked up when he saw Steinberg, finally, exiting the hotel. The man waved, presumably to the receptionist (a pretty little blond), before hitching his bag on one shoulder and walking down the road. Ace wasted no time in following, distancing a couple of yards betwixt them. This part of the city bustled with crowds of people, all busy and caught up in their daily rituals, so he could hide himself well. Steinberg, being taller than most, remained in his line of sight despite which way he turned.

Ignorant and Stalker kept this up for some uneventful minutes, turning and walking and never fully realizing they're a pair. Ace began to wonder where the man intended to go; it took him a while, but he realized they weren't heading for any of the docks. Yet Steinberg had all of his belongings, as if expecting to leave. He hoped wizards didn't have a special means of transportation. Like teleportation.

Ace blinked as he expounded on that last thought. Teleportation? That would make sense to him. When those Wicca Pirates messengers came, they had disappeared right in front of everybody. And wasn't Siren always disappearing without any hint of having physically left the ship? And then her magic tricks; she's made objects disappear right in front of them. Maybe she could make people disappear as well, including herself. A frown tugged down his face. If Steinberg could teleport, he didn't know what he'd do.

As luck would have it, whether he could or couldn't do it, Steinberg did not teleport. That relieved Ace. That relief was short-lived, however. Now the man turned into the forest. A sense of déjà-vu dawned on Ace. Of course a forest would be involved. Magic people seemed to love them. He couldn't help but marvel at that as he went into his semi-fiery state, trailing after Steinberg while trying not to set the whole forest on fire (god knows, Smokey the Bear would kill him for that). Maybe forests, being connected to every part of the Earth, were the ideal locations for any magical circumstance. Or maybe this was all coincidental.

Not that Ace had the time to consider it. For a moment he forgot that Steinberg wasn't Siren, meaning the man was more receptive than the young witch who always had her head in the clouds. When he brushed a branch of leaves out of his way (making quite some noise), he just barely had the time to hide before Steinberg turned on the spot, wand out and ready to blast a head off. It took one long pause to get him walking again, albeit tense. Ace waited a few seconds before he resumed following. He again tried to remember when he agreed to any of this.

The trek through the forest went on for a long time. It felt even longer than when he followed Siren on the last island. It almost seemed like the forest would eventual run out and lead them to the opposite coastline. Yet Steinberg kept walking, every now and then throwing a glance over his shoulders as if he knew about Ace following him like a shadow to its owner. For the most part he seemed calm, almost confident.

The forest did not lead them to the other side of the island, as Ace started to believe it would, but it did lead them to the foot of a hill. A hill which couldn't be seen from the artsy little town (remarkable, really, since the hill is so big). Other than the forest, nothing surrounded the grassy elevation of rock. A frown appeared on Ace's face again. Now where could he hide? He would have to stay at the edge of the forest, which would be most inconvenient.

Fortune was on his side, though. Almost as soon as he began contemplating his next hiding spot did a little cabin appear at the foot of the hill. Ace stared at it, the usual amazement he felt whenever a magic trick was performed washing over him. It appeared out of thin air, it did! The little wooden cabin with heavy curtains in its small windows! There was even a porch with two or three steps lacing the front door.

Steinberg relaxed, most likely satisfied, and dropped his bag by the front porch. Without another glance around he walked right into the cabin. Ace rushed towards the place, ducking himself beneath one of the windows as soon as he reached it. He pressed his ear against the wooden wall, closing his eyes in the hopes of hearing what the man was doing inside of the place. Footsteps were easy to make out. Other sounds accompanied the footsteps, but they were much harder to decipher.

After a moment, everything went silent.

Ace remained stationary, ready to pounce away like a cat if Steinberg decided to walk outside of the place. Two minutes, three minutes, five, ten and nothing happened. Silence reigned with a placid temperament, keeping its secrets with effortless skills. The wooden wall felt like a solid of pricks against his straining ears. His back hurt from being curved to the ground. All this waiting for nothing to happen became very boring at five minutes.

Deciding he may as well do something, Ace stood up. He checked both windows for any cracks in the curtains, thinking it'd be nice if he could take a peek inside. They yielded nothing, firm in their determination to keep light from getting in. He'd have to go in through the front door, then. Just as he turned to go up the steps, he tripped over something. With a loud, involuntary swear, Ace kicked at the mass which tripped him. That bag! That bag Steinberg left next to the porch. It got in his way!

He blinked, anger dissipating. With a cautious glance to the front door, he grabbed the bag and sat down beneath the window. Strange man, leaving his bag out in the open. Didn't he know it could be stolen? Or dug through by people like Ace, who were told to go dig their nose in other people's business? Casting one last glance to the front door, as if expecting Steinberg to appear out of thin air, Ace opened the bag.

Clothes, clothes, more clothes. A map. Toothbrush. Pair of shoes. Dirty boxers (gross). Oh look, wizard robes. And here Ace thought wizards didn't really wear robes (he never saw Siren in them). Another map. Some money. Not sure what that was. A book. It kind of looked like a journal of sorts. He figured he might as well take a peek. Pulling it out, he opened it to a random page somewhere in the middle. After scanning it for a few seconds he realized it wasn't a journal but an agenda. He supposed Steinberg to be an organized type.

And a pack rat. The agenda proved to be old, dating as far back as six years. It surprised Ace, if not amazed him, that there were still enough pages to make it useful. Of course by this time he has learned to blame everything on magic. After all, that became a very simple explanation for every questionable thing.

In the off chance that it would be useful, Ace flipped through the agenda, reading sentences that made no sense to his mind. Who's Teresa? Maybe Steinberg has a wife somewhere in that country. With children too; 'Pick up Alvin and Patricia from the office at ten o'clock'. The poor woman must hate having her husband roaming around in unknown territory. 'Pick up documents today'? Funny, Steinberg didn't strike him as a man who'd spend his time in a cubicle. He flipped further ahead. In one square, the names 'Vincent and Siren Vàrgaz' were written and underlined.

Ace blinked. Nothing else accompanied the names. He flipped ahead, wondering if he could find an explanation in a different square as to why those names were written. When he found none, he flipped back to where he found them. 'Vincent and Siren Vàrgaz'. The date recorded was about four years ago. The next thing written said something about throwing away some old files.

'Vincent and Siren Vàrgaz'. Did they have the same last name, or did this Vincent guy not have one? Maybe they were married. With a shake of his head, Ace laughed at himself. Married? No. It couldn't be. Assuming these dates were right, Siren would have to have been fourteen years old. Much too young, unless the wizarding society didn't have age restrictions. Somehow he found himself doubting that.

Siblings. If Vincent and Siren have the last name, but they're not married, then they had to be siblings. Well, Ace still assumed they weren't married. Or, rather, hadn't been married (he remembered Marco mentioning Vincent being dead, from what he heard). The option of Vincent not having a last name still stood; if only written things could be clearer.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Ace jumped at the booming voice, not failing to smack his head against the window pane. Rubbing the now growing bump, Ace looked up to the burly figure of Steinberg. How did he not notice the man before? After the pain subsided, he stood up and offered a very low bow.

"Forgive me for the intrusion, sir." He said in his most sincere voice. "I didn't mean to go through your belongings."

Steinberg cocked an eyebrow high, feeling aghast. One didn't see such manners everyday, especially not from a pirate.

"And why were yah going through my stuff?" Steinberg asked, folding his arms over his chest.

Ace hesitated, not sure what to say. The wrong lie would make everything worst. Maybe the truth would be best. There's no harm in trying. He hoped.

"Well, we just wanted to learn more about Siren." Ace stood up straight, meeting the man's gaze. Steinberg seemed to be considering this, pursing his lips together. His eyes looked the younger man up and down, scrutinizing.

"Aye, my little chicky-doo doesn't like talking 'bout herself, much." He said with a nod. "But surely you know _something_ about her?"

"Well," Ace shrugged one shoulder. "we know she's a witch, a Wandless one at that. We don't know much else."

"Ain't that enough?"

Ace wanted to say yes, that he thought so, but decided that perhaps it wouldn't be the right thing to admit.

"No way." He said. "That doesn't tell us what she's up to, now does it?"

"I don't know either." Steinberg said. "But you don't see me snooping about her business, now do yah?"

"'Cause you're not the one traveling with her." Ace said. "But we are."

"That doesn't matter. I know Siren and she can be trusted. Besides, she wouldn't do anything bad."

"I think her being wanted refutes that."

"Now listen here, it ain't her fault she's wanted!" Steinberg clenched his fists. "Those damn Marines just can't stand that two Wandless survived for eighteen years right under their noses! So o' course she's a criminal, they want her dead for that kind o' humiliation! If yah don't believe me, just look at Vincent. _He's_ dead now, isn't he?"

Ace scoffed. "I don't know who Vincent is."

"Her brother! A fine young man, too, Wandless just like her. The Marine bastards killed him from what she told me. And they still had the audacity to give her a bounty afterwards!"

"Excuse me for not knowing that, but it's not like she ever talks about these things."

Steinberg sighed, unclenching his fists. "If your brother was killed because o' your bloodline, would you like to talk about it?"

Ace made no response. He knew his answer though. No. He wouldn't talk about it. Even now, he doesn't go around telling people he's Gold Roger's son, that the Marines killed a lot of innocent people in hopes of preventing his birth. They're all dead because of him…

He had no way of knowing just how deep a chord he struck in Ace, but Steinberg seemed to pick up on his sympathy. He offered a smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I think she told me something about being suspected o' kidnap?" he asked Ace. Ace nodded.

"Yea. A crewmate of mine was taken a few weeks back by the Wicca Pirates—"

"And you think Siren is in cahoots with them." Steinberg finished the sentence with a nod. "I can't prove to yah she isn't, but I know she ain't. The only reason she's after them is 'cause she thinks they're getting in the way o' whatever the hell she's up to."

Ace nodded again. "Right. I don't think she's evil or anything but she is acting—"

"Suspicious. Right, I know." Steinberg said. "Just try to trust her, will yah? My little chicky-doo is really sweet if yah can get past her absent-mindedness."

"We can try…"

"Right, well. How 'bout a drink? It'll make the pain in your head go away."

Ace grinned. That sounded pretty good right about now.

****

When Ace returned later that night, he retold everything that happened. The idea of him having been lied to came up, but Ace's sense of good judgment made them wonder if they should believe the man. Other than not knowing what Siren's up to, they had no real reason to not trust her. She's been helping the crew, leading them straight to the Wicca Pirates; and the few people she has befriended all claim her to be of a benevolent disposition. Marco had been right to say, upon first meeting her, that she gave off a more 'hippie' vibe as opposed to a 'wicked' one. They decided, then, that Siren could be trusted. For now, she was innocent until proven guilty.

That being said, Ace thought over his next attempt of getting Siren to hook up with Marco. Approaching her directly had failed him. Miserably. Perhaps a more indirect approach would be better? In the distance, he spotted a few off-duty nurses, chatting away about the cute men they saw on the island. He smirked.

Gossiping nurses could work to his advantage.

****

Just a flick of her wrist was enough to draw his attention. Marco stared at her, strolling along the deck with such languid movements. Flowing through the crowd, smooth and slippery and slick as silk. The serene expression easily masked the stoic glint, merging to form the boredom of her face. A smile honeyed her features, unenthusiastic but quite sincere, every now and then.

Marco raised his eyebrows a tad, unable to pull his gaze away. After staring her down for eight days a week, she felt the pull of his eyes calling her, beckoning with subtle insecurity, so much so she had to turn and respond with obedience. She, Siren, looped towards him without a hint of expression distilling the boredom smoothed on her face.

"Marco." she said in a drawl, light and delicate upon his ears. He crossed his arms, leaning more to the side, against the railing.

"How's it going?" all the hubbub and ruckus and rowdy chatter and laughter seemed to disappear and fade and melt into the distant background.

"Alright, alright. Same as always, really."  
She sat in close proximity to him, plopped right down but a foot— less! — away from him. Her warmth invaded his personal space, dominated his lone spot with careless accompaniment.

"I'm surprised, eh. You haven't left us in awhile."

"I haven't had need to."

He gave a curt nod of his head, eyes never straying, focused, enchanted but too stubborn to admit it. His lip tilted up on its own.

"You look tired. You've been sleeping, haven't you?" he ignored the sensation, the impulse, the need growing in him. He focused, harder, staring and staring at her.

"Somewhat. Did you know those nurses are quite gossipy at night?" a sigh oozed from her mouth in a perfect, perfect O, carrying the weight of hidden annoyance. She leaned back, crossing her arms without tension, throwing a glance at him (one which he caught and held, very pleased and eager).

"Tell 'em to shut up, eh."

"Yes, and get pelted by pillows afterwards? I think not."

There was a hint of bitterness, impatience, maybe even intolerance. A stab of sympathy smacked his senses, smacked them down to something of a drastic measure.

"You can sleep in my room." These words left him with smooth casualty though the beat of his heart contradicted that rhythm.

"Where would you sleep...?"

"We can share it, eh."

She stared at him, deep, spotting the implication and need and desire and restraints. At a slow, thoughtful pace, one and one clicked to make two and with a _snap_ she made sense of it all. With a _snap_, she smiled one of her honey smiles, small, timid, confident.

"You like me, don't you?" she asked, more like stated. He responded with a blush. To which she responded with a soft little kiss against his lips.

Everything was understood between them.

****

**A/N- GASP! They kissed! And so starts the little dating between the two of them. (And it only took five chapters!)**

**You may have noticed the writing style was completely different during that last part? It's a simple explanation; I wrote that scene a long time ago with the intentions of it being a drabble/one-shot. But I really liked it so I snuck it into the story! Hope you all don't mind. ;) **

**I also hope you all don't mind my tardiness. I blame holiday-laziness. What can you do, right?**

**But I've never stopped thinking about the story! You can all thank Ms. Dragon for keeping my mind on Siren. She's been something like a muse to me. :D Go read her Ace story!**

**AFTER reviewing me, of course.**


	7. What's in a name?

Something in the atmosphere of the Moby Dick changed. At least to Siren, who had, up until then, felt like a fish out of water. Had been a fish out of water; she didn't belong to this crew with its familial bond; didn't feel that deep chasm of attachment to the ship which the others did; couldn't feel that attachment because the place didn't offer her the benefits of a home. No, her home lied in Sarasota, not in a vessel of the seven seas.

Staring at Marco from the corner of her eyes, she wondered how things came to this. The sudden willingness to trust her; to let their guard down around her; to include her whole-heartedly into the camaraderie and not place her at arm's length; to, on occasion, call her 'sister' as an endearment. Siren felt like a type of pet; a creature considered as being part of the family yet not really.

"Siren."

She blinked, recognizing Marco's lazy drone of a voice. It took her a few seconds to realize he caught her staring at him.

"Yes?"

"You spaced out again, eh." He said with some amusement.

"I suppose so." Her lips twitched up into a smile. "I'd have guessed you're used to it by now."

Feeling an arm wrap around her waist no longer surprised her.

"'Course I am, eh." He shrugged one careless shoulder. "But the staring's kind of creepy."

"Fine. I won't look at you at all then." Siren said in her drawl, averting her eyes and fixing them elsewhere. His grip on her waist tightened; whether to draw her attention or not, she refused to acknowledge it.

"I don't mind the staring, eh. But at least blink or something."

"Don't be silly. Blinking is for losers." She said, trying to keep a straight face yet unable to hide the slight curve of her lips. She heard the quiet chuckle that followed.

"Don't laugh at me, jerk."

"I'm not, eh."

"You aren't laughing with me, though."

"Can't. You aren't laughing, now are you?"

Siren glanced at the blond man in feigned exasperation, eyebrows rising high. Instead of responding she began tracing random patterns along her leg. The familiar sensation of being watched failed to pass her notice. Hypocrite…

"Yes, Marco?"

"…Nothing."

"Don't lie. It doesn't suit you."

A pause followed in which he continued to stare at her. And stare. And stare. And kept staring. A good chunk of time passed by with him just staring at her. It got to the point of being distracting. Unable to ignore the pressure of such scrutiny, Siren consented into returning the gaze.

Only to find him not staring at her. In fact, his eyes made a hard path to a place beyond her, over the ship's railing and out to the distant ocean. With a casual elegance, Siren followed the path, wondering what in the world could have captivated his full attention.

Oh. Marines.

And their Naval Base (well, one of them). What a surprise. Who knew they'd set up base in such a deserted area of the world? Siren blinked, returning her focus to Marco.

"Did you know there were Marines here?" he asked, looking at her with one raised brow.

"No. I have never traveled this route."

The idea of it being a bad thing flew right over Siren's head. She knew Marines to be annoying but she saw no danger in confronting them, and thus did not deem it necessary to avoid them whenever possible. Marco, however, without stepping away from his usual bored demeanor, appeared the faintest perplexed. With justifiable reasons, too.

Perhaps the young witch may have forgotten her own words, but Marco remembered that, upon her first day aboard the Moby Dick, she told them (more like mentioned) that the Government did not want anyone reaching the Cyclades Islands; which is why they kept the only Eternal Pose with themselves. With that in mind, he thought about their known stubbornness when it came to preventing something from happening. They go all out, the pesky bastards do. Therefore, if they discovered that someone was attempting to reach those off limit islands, it would be right to assume they'd have a constant barrage of Marines sent chasing after them. And, of course, they'd get the elite Marines they're the Whitebeard Pirates.

This would all be very inconvenient, considering how long it takes to reach each island. Not to mention that each proceeding island has been emptier than the last; one day they may very well reach an empty island with no supplies.

So Marco had a much more solemn reaction than Siren, who, slow as she was, failed to see the consequences of such an encounter. But to give her the benefit of the doubt, her apathy had its own reasons; her magic took care of everything – from immediate necessities to temporary hiding and, when in a dire circumstance, evasion. She simply forgets she no longer travels alone.

Within five minutes, the ship anchored while still at a safe distance and all of the division commanders were called together. It became apparent that they all shared Marco's view on this situation.

"I say we bomb the assholes." One of the Commanders chimed.

"We may well have to." Whitebeard took a swig from his tankard before continuing. "Though they'd still find out someone's along this trail."

"At the very least it'd buy us some time." Thatch shrugged his shoulders. "They're pretty slow to notice things, no?"

"But why bomb 'em?" Ace said, face frowning. "It's a Naval Base. They might have something useful locked away somewhere. It'd be smarter if we raided them first and then blew them up."

"But raiding them would alert them to our presence, eh. One of the little buggers might have time to call reinforcements."

"Who cares if we're chased from here on out?" Another nameless Commander scoffed. "We need some way to entertain ourselves."

With an abrupt cough Whitebeard attained their attention. Silence ensued.

"One of you," he started with a sweeping glance around them. "will sneak in and look for anything of interest. Afterwards, you will destroy any form of communication they might have. The rest of you can then do whatever the hell you want so long as the base is destroyed."

A wave of approval passed over the gathering, who either nodded, laughed, or smirked in eager anticipation. Ace beamed at his Captain, leaning forward in his seat.

"So who's gonna sneak in?"

"You."

Of course. It stands to reason that since Ace birthed the idea, he should do the boring part of it. He should have kept his mouth shut.

****

Sneaking into the base was by no means difficult. They didn't seem to recognize the difference between a stranger and their own comrades, for when Ace dressed himself in Marine garb no one became the slightest suspicious (maybe they figured him to be a new recruit?). Not that it bothered him; the sooner he inspected the place, the better.

The base, he found, turned out to be much smaller than it looked. The majority of the building consisted of a dining hall; there were many closets and bedrooms as well. A total of two offices made up the interior. Each office had its own set of large file cabinets, along with doors leading to two jail cells.

Ace managed to thumb through the file cabinets without being caught. The files stored away were yellowing; musty air attacked his nose in bursts each time he flipped through a folder. Some of the pages ripped easily, their faded words melting into a gray dust. Ace wondered when was the last time these people decided to clean. They were probably lazy.

It took the young commander a good hour to go through each and every available file. When no one of notable interest turned up he decided to rid the area the Transponder Snails and get to the fun part already. As he crushed and burned each Snail, he grumbled under his breath about always being the one to do the snooping. The others were just as capable as him.

As soon as Ace reported back to the ship, they attacked. All of the Marines had been enjoying an early dinner and were quite indignant at being interrupted. They didn't have much time to voice their complaints, however, as battle commenced and sounds of war overwhelmed any other noise.

****

While the pirates toyed around with their prey, that shadowy little Siren snuck into one of the offices. Locking the door with a flick of her wrist, she stalked over to one of the cabinets. As she opened a drawer, thinking of nothing in particular, hollowed laughter caught her attention. They seeped in from the jail cells.

Wondering if a guard stood posted inside, she opened the door leading to the small prison. The small hallway glowed sans life, deserted. The laughing came from one of the jail cells, stemming from the very back wall with nothing but shadows. Feeling some pity for the prisoner, she approached the cell with every intention of freeing him.

And she would have, too, had it not been the captain of the pirates who attacked them once. The very same ones who turned out to be associated with the Wiccas.

The man stopped his laughing when he noticed Siren standing in front of his cell. Recognition flashed in his eyes like wildfire.

"You." He said, voice rasped as if suffering from a dried throat. She raised her eyebrows high, not responding.

"You're that witch girl." He continued, not at all perturbed by her impassive silence. "That's Whitebeard out there attacking, ain't it?"

She nodded but still said nothing.

"You won't free me, will you?"

She shook her head. But still said nothing.

"Quiet one, ain't you? Just like he said…" The hollowed laugh escaped him again, reverberating around the small enclosure until the very air quaked. It managed to drown out the commotion from outside.

"Since I'm gonna die, mind answering some questions?"

Siren shrugged but otherwise gave no real reaction.

"I'll answer any of your ponderings, mind. That bastard James sent me here, might as well cause him hell."

Siren, again, shrugged.

"I heard your name ain't really Siren. Does that mean you're really Pamela?"

A second passed in which he thought she wouldn't respond.

"No." she said. "My name is Siren. It always will be."

"Then who's Pamela?"

"I don't know who Pamela is. The man who assaulted me was drunk, however."

"Ah… guess the idiot was lying." The man closed his eyes for a moment. "But he ain't the one who told me your name's not Siren. Heard it from what's-his-name…"

"My name is Siren." She repeated in a monotone.

"Fine, fine, you're Siren." She could just make out the roll of his eyes.

"You said you'd answer my own questions."

When he nodded, she continued. "How did your subordinate know about the mark on my back?"

"James told us. He's got a few of them Wandless Wizards in his ranks, y'know."

Siren tilted her head. If she recalled, Steinberg said that James Vonnegut caused the execution of the Wandless. Why, then, would he enlist some as his own subordinates? Surely this wasn't his malformed idea of penitence?

"That brother of yours. Vincent? He was killed by one of James' men."

She blinked, her eyebrows dropping down her brow like rocks in water. "Excuse me?"

"Yea. 'Twas a Wandless disguised as a Marine. James sent the order to him."

"Why?"

"Dunno."

A heavy weight fell upon Siren. She stared at the imprisoned man without really seeing him. A wizard killed Vincent, not a Marine? But why? Why would anyone but the Marines want to kill a wizard? No. No. It had to be a lie. It was a lie.

Maybe.

Siren turned away from the jail cell. It could be true. She, at the present time, had no proof refuting that statement. Not that she had proof in favor of it, either. The scales were balanced and could be tipped either or.

Without another word, she returned to the office. The ruckus outside began to die down; the fighting would be over soon. She better hurry. With the impatience of a tired girl standing in line for too long, she dug through the opened cabinet drawer. Seconds of searching rewarded her with a pretty slim file, almost as old as the rest. Upon the little tab, in capital, faded letters, one thing stood written:

PATRICIA CASTELLANO

Peering at it, Siren pursed her lips. She glanced over at the jail room.

"It's Patricia, not Pamela. Drunk idiot."

As soon as those words were uttered, the folder burst into flames. She could do nothing but watch as all of the papers curled and shrieked in protest as the tendrils of fire rose higher and higher. It gave her a morbid sense of satisfaction to see Patricia burn into non-existence. The dumb bitch deserved it. Besides, now she could always be Siren.

Siren Vàrgaz.

****

"Oh, there you are, eh."

Siren glanced over at Marco as she entered their bedroom. She offered him a languid smile.

"Have you been waiting for me?"

"Nah, just wondering where you went, eh. I thought you left again."

He watched as she crossed the room to sit by the window. He vaguely wondered why he always looked out to sea; was there sentimentality behind her gaze, or simply lack of a more aesthetic sight to behold? He almost didn't notice the smudges of black littering her hands.

Instead of enquiring about it, Marco grabbed a cloth, moistened it, and took a seat besides her. The cool feel of the damp material made Siren jump a little.

"I can clean my own hands."

"I know."

Strange man. Her eyes followed every movement his hands made, the slick feel of the cloth soothing against her stinging skin. She should have dropped the folder as soon as it set on fire. Why did she hold onto it…?

"What's the matter, eh?"

Marco observed her carefully, trying to pick up the slightest change in expression.

"It's nothing." She said.

"I don't know, eh. You look kind of bothered."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Not always, eh."

"If you say so." She drawled. She kept her eyes fixed to his hands. When he finished cleaning her skin, she entwined their fingers. Something about the feel of his hands against hers felt surreal. She squeezed them, the bones of his knuckles pressing back in response. Warmth. Full of mass. Tangible. Weird, from the short finger nails to the thin wrists. She squeezed harder, subconsciously furrowing her brow. No. They couldn't be crushed. They wouldn't disappear regardless of how hard she squeezed. Yet they weren't permanent. Nothing was permanent.

"Siren." His voice, amused, drifted to her ears. Her eyes bounced up to his face.

"I hope you're not trying to break my hands, eh."

Right. Too much pressure causes things to crack. She stopped her curious squeezing, opting to caress the back of his hands with her finger tips.

"Sorry." She said, eyebrows lifting to their usual spots. "But it wouldn't matter. You can heal yourself."

"Yep." He nodded. Then he chuckled.

"What?"

"You looked like a confused child, eh. It was cute."

"Oh, hush, you pedophile."

His chuckle only increased as he pulled her into a hug. She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck. His whole body emitted warmth, as if his skin was the steam created by the blue fire of his body. The muscles, the arms, the stability with which his form held her, it all felt alive; breathing with life, covered in the muck of living, it all reminded her that as surreal and dream-like and so damn unnatural as it felt, it was reality. Her reality.

Marco was her reality. He was the one now alive and holding her and caring for her.

Vincent was the surreal dream. The one now dead and not holding her and not caring for her, as she once thought he always would.

And why? Because James decided to be an asshole. Because James sent his men after them. And why? Why did James want to kill them? Kill him? Kill at all? What had been done, what had they done?

Siren opened her eyes, vowing to find out. She glanced up at Marco, her current position letting her see the trimmed, neat stubble budding from his chin. As they trailed off into idle chit chat, she couldn't help but wonder how things came to this.

********

**A/N- I don't think I'll ever update on time… damn school. :/ **

**Why do midterms exist?**

**But here it is! The new chapter! Finally! Don't shoot me!**

**So with this chapter I was trying to let you guys take a peek into Siren's head. I feel like I've been skimming around her and focusing on everyone else more. Which isn't an altogether bad thing, but still.**

**If anyone's interested, I posted up sketches of Siren I made. Just look through my deviantart account (.com). **

**So… reviews please!**

**And I'll probably be late with the next update. Sorry! D:**


	8. Set Backs

Who said stubborn effort didn't pay off?

After many weeks of tireless tailing, many many maybe too many days of hoping to finally reach their target, the Whitebeard Pirate Crew rejoiced upon finding the Wicca Pirate Ship docked in the next island they reached.

The crew was immediately assembled to the deck of the Moby Dick where Whitebeard sat in his usual seat. Many of the men were quite eager for a fight, caressing the swords upon their hips with delicate motions, twitchy fingers trying to pull the trigger of their guns, eyes deciding to gleam with pure malice. Even the nurses, feminine and clean and out-of-place when compared to the dirty pirates, bore the look of hunters ready to pounce whenever instinct deemed necessary.

"Alright men," Whitebeard started, beady eyes observing the enemy ship. "we've finally caught up with those bastards, but we shouldn't be foolish about this. I want the first half of my divisions to station themselves about that ship. The other half will fish out any and all Wiccas within the island. We will get Michael back. Show those assholes what happens when they mess with us!"

A roar of agreement thundered into the air, so intense the very deck trembled. Without a moment's delay the men dispersed to do as they were told, feeling the affects of a new found adrenaline. As the last of them left, Siren appeared beside Whitebeard. She examined the giant man in consideration, one eyebrow quirked as if thinking.

"What's the matter, brat? I thought you'd be glad about this."

"Yes, yes, I am." After a few more seconds of silent consideration, Siren tore her gaze away from him and instead watched the other pirate ship. A frown aggravated her face. This troubled expression made him narrow his eyes.

"You don't look glad."

When she didn't respond he figured she had ignored him (or not heard him, as was the case sometimes). However, a sigh proved she had.

"Forget about it." She closed her eyes, a defeated smile climbing her face. "There's no way it could be…"

The phrase made no sense to him; then again, many things concerning the young witch made no sense to him. He decided he would 'forget about it', as she advised, mind more preoccupied with retrieving his son.

Whitebeard's crew worked fast, accomplishing their respective tasks in as little as one hour. The day soon found them all gathered onto the tiny Wicca ship, now serving as a hostage. Whitebeard stood in the middle, taking up the most room with his massive size. All around him, his sons with their weapons kept the opposing crew in check, swords guns daggers jutting into bodies with warning.

"Where," Whitebeard smirked, casting an ominous glance around. "is the Captain?"

No one spoke. No one moved. Each Wicca glared at the ground. Their lips were sealed with loyalty (stubbornness). With reluctance (rebellion). This only made his smirk widen.

"Too scared to speak?" he mocked them. A few sniggers slithered around. All from his sons.

"No matter. We'll find him."

As if on cue, a group of his own came rushing up the deck, dragging a hooded man with them. They shoved the figure in front of their Captain.

"Oi, Pops! We found 'im!"

Angered hissing came from the Wicca crew, all indignant at the poor treatment of their leader. Some even tried to rush to his side, only to be smacked to the ground. After this hissing died down, silence reigned; the hooded man stood up, back straight arms hanging stiff down his sides.

"So you're the little brat who took my son." Whitebeard stared at him, a hint of disapproval coating his otherwise smug face. "If you hand him over now, I promise to go easy on you."

A grunt. It sounded like a scoff. No matter. A split second later showed the hooded man lunging towards Whitebeard, two swords unsheathed and ready. He moved fast and soared through the air with a sort of powerful elegance; his swords came close to making contact.

Unfortunately, Whitebeard expected that. Every captain was proud. Egotistical. To an extent? Foolish. Rash. Short-tempered. Sensitive. Attacking their honor was the synonym of first-strike. Knowing this, he evaded the swords and with a good _whack _of his bisento, sent the other man crashing into the deck.

Just as before, the Wicca crew hissed and attempted to aid their Captain, some even managing to take a few steps towards him. But, also as before, they were smacked down by their captors.

Satisfied with what he did, Whitebeard addressed the ones who had found this Captain. "Have you finished searching the ship for Michael?"

"No, Pops. This dump's a lot bigger than it looks."

"You won't find Michael here."

The voice was so soft, so quiet, that for a split second everyone thought they had imagined it. But when the hooded man stood up, eyes fixed on Whitebeard, they realized he had spoken.

"Whaddaya mean, we won't find him here?"

"You won't. Find him. Here. Don't you speak English, old fart?"

"OI! You watch your mouth!"

"YEA! Don't speak to Pops like that!"

"Bastard!"

"Quiet!" Whitebeard said, the uproar instantly stopping. His smirk turned into a frown.

"If Michael isn't here, then where is he?"

"You don't need to know that.

"You won't tell me, then."

"Don't need to."

"Whitebeard." Siren called, strolling onto the deck. She had been below, though when she boarded in the first place was anyone's guess. He glanced over at her.

"It would seem this isn't the main ship." She said. In her hand, a letter could be seen. "This is merely one of many divisions. That man is not Captain James. The people we're looking for are somewhere within the Grand Line, according to the return address."

She waved the letter in the air, eyebrows rising. The Captain of the ship, the Not-Captain-James, turned to her.

"Oh, you've got the little bitch helping you." He sneered in that soft voice. Siren blinked, expression impassive to a fault yet able to seem bored.

"Indeed, sir. Is there a problem?" she drawled.

"What a waste. You should be on our crew." The man shook his head with a _tsk_.

"I'm on no one's crew." She turned her attention to Whitebeard. "Being on this ship is pointless, I think. I'll be preparing the Log Pose if you need me."

She left within a blink. He looked at the Captain, frustration becoming evident. "You assholes have messed with the wrong man. Sons! Kill them all and take anything of worth."

****

To alleviate the major disappointment, the Whitebeard crew did what they always did. They drank. Got drunk. Partied. The troubles and worries of traveling to the Grandline became replaced with alcohol. Why concern themselves when they could be in high-spirits?

Somewhere on the ship, Siren sat with Marco, Ace, and Thatch. She had been entertaining them with her usual magic tricks but conversation gradually ensued. The young witch leaned against Marco, staring at them thoughtfully.

"How do you get to the Grand Line?" she asked.

"You pass through Fishman Island, eh." Marco answered.

"Fishman… Island?" Siren blinked, brow furrowing.

"Yea. Y'know. Fishfolk place. Underwater. Y'have to pass it to get into the New World here." Ace said, with much waving of his hands. He froze when Siren's vacant expression didn't budge.

"Now this is interesting." Thatch grinned, caressing his scruffy little beard. "You don't know about Fishman Island?"

"No, sir."

"How'd you get into the New World then, eh?" Marco tilted his head.

"You weren't born in the New World, where you?" Ace asked. Siren shook her head.

"I was born in Sarasota." She said. "When I left, I left through the New World exit."

The tables turned; now the men stared at her with vacant faces.

"What?"

"Sarasota has a total of four main ports. Two of them lead to the Grand Line. The other two lead to the New World. When my brother and I left, we went through one of the New World ports."

"I can't make sense of that much." Ace frowned, propping himself on his knee. "Wouldn't that mean your country has to be on top of the Red Line?"

"Not necessarily." Siren shrugged. "Magic has no sense, now does it?"

"Mm. Point taken." Ace still looked confused. She could all but see his mind trying to make geographical sense of it.

"You've never been to the Grand Line." Thatch stated, that funny grin of his unwavering. Siren shook her head in confirmation. "Adorable! Really! You're such a little baby, man."

Siren scoffed at him. "Oh come, now, the Grand Line can't be that special."

"Oh on the contrary, lass. It's a pretty damn big deal."

To this Ace and Marco chimed their agreement.

"You just ain't a real pirate if you haven't been through there." Ace smirked.

"It toughens you up, eh." Marco nodded in a way only wise men could. Siren raised her eyebrows to their usual spots.

"Good thing I'm not a pirate then."

"Not a pirate?" Ace lifted a brow in exaggerated disbelief. "You're wanted. You hate the Government. You break laws. You're on a pirate ship—"

"You're dating a pirate." Thatch added.

"You are a pirate." They concluded.

Siren shrugged another careless shoulder. "I'm not a pirate. I'm simply wanted."

"Tch. That's how it starts, eh. But I bet if ya had the choice between a normal life and a pirate's life, you'd chose a pirate's." Marco said with the same confidence Ace and Thatch had.

"Hm. Really now?" Siren drawled, her languorous smile tip-toeing up her cheeks. "Considering I don't even like fighting, that's a very doubtful surmise."

"Doubtful now, maybe." Ace said. "But just wait, Siren. When the time comes, we'll see who's right."

It was a bet. A challenge. But more importantly?

An open invitation.

****

Somehow the return trip didn't take as long as the departure. They had spent weeks, months, heading towards the Cyclades Islands. Now they were in the Land of Wano after only three short weeks. Funny how those things worked.

But no one complained. If anything, they rejoiced at seeing familiar land again. Ace, in particular, seemed happy about disembarking here; those straw hats the villagers wore interested him a lot. He sped off to the nearest craft store, dragging Siren and Marco along with him.

"You all have been here before?" she asked as they took a seat.

"Yep. They've got some of the best ship coaters around." Marco nodded.

"The monsters are cool, too." Ace grinned, fiddling around with some straw.

"There are monsters here?"

"They're more inland, eh, but some actually live in town."

Siren glanced out the window as if expecting to see the said monsters. To her dismay, she saw none.

"Luffy would love this place." Ace's grin widened. "He'd try to keep those things as pets."

Marco chuckled. "That littler brother of yours sounds like quite the character, eh."

Siren let a small smile take her face. "You have a young brother, Ace?"

"Yea, he's the best. Got me in a ton of trouble, mind, but we laughed that stuff off later."

"Oh, but that's normal. If younger siblings weren't a handful then life would be boring."

Marco looked at Siren. "You've got younger siblings or is that a guess?"

"I have younger siblings." She said. "They're a year younger than me but can still be troublesome."

"Age doesn't matter, I don't think." Ace said. "Three years, one year, a day. If they're younger, they're trouble."

Siren chuckled in agreement. A chuckle which turned into a laugh when the straw Ace had bursted into flames.

"Oi, idiot." Marco rolled his eyes as the now-panicked Ace put out the fire. "Be more careful, eh."

"S'not my fault!" he sighed, sweat forming on his forehead. "I can't help it."

"I suppose age really doesn't matter." Siren smiled boredly. "We're all just a pack of trouble."

"Uy, tell me about it." Marco shook his head. Wrapping an arm around Siren's waist, he waved to Ace. "Good luck with that, eh."

As the pair of them left the store, they could hear Ace being scolded by the clerk. Siren felt sorry for him but didn't dwell on that thought for long. It was a pretty girl clerk with a nice body. Probably easy. He'd be able to charm her anger away (and then some, too).

"Hey, Siren, don't ya want any clothes or something?" Marco asked.

"No. I don't have money, anyway."

"That's not an excuse, eh. I've got plenty of that."

"Save it, my little birdy. I've no interest in material things."

"Sheesh, you're a strange girl." He mused. "Who rejects free stuff?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Greed can be terrible. If money causes greed then I best avoid it."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Or do you disagree?"

"I can get what you're saying. But accepting another's gift doesn't make you greedy."

"Hm. I suppose." She shrugged. "But still. Keep the money for yourself. Lord knows I don't need it."

"Not even for when you leave the ship?"

"No. It's not like I leave on vacations. I have actual business to attend to."

"Business? Sounds like you've got a job or something, eh."

"Job? Not quite."

When she didn't press further, Marco frowned. He decided to persist, see if he could get anything new out of her.

"What would you call it, then?"

"What would I call it?" she repeated. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, squinting her eyes a bit. "Research."

"Research?"

"Yes, si— ah, Marco. Research. I'm quite a dumb person, you see." She drawled.

"You're slow, for sure, but you ain't dumb."

It took her a good thirty seconds to register what he said.

"…Hey now." She lifted her eyebrows. "That's not very nice."

He smirked, her delayed reaction proving his point well. She must have sensed this, too, for she offered a small pout before turning away from him.

"What're you researching?" he asked after giving her some time to get over it.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"You're being nosy again."

"I'm your boyfriend, eh. I gotta know something, don't I?"

"No." she said, light drawl and expression as impassive as ever. "You won't die if you don't know."

Marco raised a curious brow, examining her. A frown tugged his lips down. "You're keeping a lot of secrets from me, eh."

"I'm not keeping secrets, dear." She turned her gaze to his face, cool, calm, even innocent, locking eyes with him easily. "I simply don't wish to discuss certain things."

A feeling of dread washed over the First Commander as they continued walking around the Land of Wano. He didn't like this. Not in the least. Couples weren't supposed to hide things from each other, were they? And though she claimed to have no secrets, silence in itself was a secret. Not "discussing" was a secret.

Leaving without telling him was a secret. When he woke up the next day, alone, the deepest of frowns engraved itself into his face. She left without telling him. Siren left. Without telling him. Even after their talk about secrets and hiding things.

How could he trust a girl who acted so suspiciously? So peculiar? So damn detached?

****

**A/N: I feel refreshed! Rejuvenated! Recuperated! All of the above! And now a new chapter is out. Ugh, so after one hectic as hell month of school which drained my creativity and will to live , I now feel better enough to write. Livejournal helped, too, since there are some awesome writers in the One Piece community. It's my new addiction.**

**Ah, so, this chapter. I was aiming for quite a few things. I wanted to move the story along. I wanted to show some interaction between Siren and the crew. I wanted to have Ace in it, since I'm happy about the recent chapters and have been reminded of his awesomeness. I also wanted to show some tension between Siren and Marco. I hope I did it well.**

**Speaking of Siren, on my profile I devoted some space to the "Origin of Siren". It has no spoilers; it's just my explanation of how I created her and what fandom she was originally meant for. You know, it took me two years to make her (technically). I'm proud of her… ^____^ Also, Siren makes an appearance in two of Ms. Dragon's drabbles under the story "A Fairy's Tale of Memoirs and Maps". Interested? Go check it out.**

**For now? REVIEW. Please. I love reviews. *o***


	9. Magic

"ALL ABOARD!"

"Oi, unfurl those sails!"

"Get that anchor up, will ya'?"

Ruckus, ruckus, ruckus ensued just as in every departure. Running, frantic steps every which way; careful not to skip a duty. The men of the crew kept themselves quite busy at times like these. Needless to say excitement bounced everywhere; coated ship, replenished (rum) supplies, familiar (nostalgic) territory awaiting them— of course they were giddy.

And, with perfect timing, Siren returned.

In her usual fashion.

Marco couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or relieved. After all, she left without saying anything to him. Refused to. And what if—? She did something bad— something dangerous— something stupid?

What if—? She didn't return— couldn't return—...died? The ocean, bountiful, helpful, was treacherous. Murderous. How many men had it drowned? How many secrets did it hide, how many memories did it conceal? And Siren—! Did she consider this? Ever? Was she just a fool?

Or was he the bigger fool for worrying so much? Over a girl— some girl— he barely knew. Marco sighed. Sitting next to the bed. Watching her sleep. Not knowing when she returned. Vein ticking. Brow furrowed. A pretty frown pulling down his face. He considered waking her up. Demanding an answer— _answers_— from her, to alleviate his mind.

But the dark circles beneath her eyes stopped him. The fondness he felt for her stopped him. That part of him which trusted her stopped him. His body relaxed.

This was his girlfriend. He had to trust her.

The ticking vein ceased.

She'd been nice. Pretty funny. Not once showing malicious nature.

He sighed.

Maybe he shouldn't bother her so much. Maybe he really was being too nosy. Hadn't she told him that countless times?

But still. Nosy or not she just— she just never—

His furrowed brow deepened. Siren blinked, trying to rid the film of sleep from her vision.

"Marco." she said. "Why are you just sitting there?"

"Just thinking, eh."

She stared at him a moment longer before stretching. "Think away as you please, but must you stare at me?"

When he didn't respond, Siren looked at him again. With those raised eyebrows, eyes drooping just a fraction more. Puzzled.

"Is something wrong?" she asked in all sincerity. Marco closed his eyes.

"Nothing."

Siren's eyebrows shifted higher. "Then why the frown?"

"I'm always frowning, ain't I?"

When he felt a sudden weight on his laps, he opened his eyes. Siren wrapped her arms around his neck, settling all snug and cozy on him. Running her finger tips gently along his cheek— as if afraid it'd break— she fixed her eyes onto his.

"You shouldn't frown so much." she drawled. Marco blinked, cocking a brow.

"I rather you wouldn't." she said when he still didn't respond. "I don't really like it."

"I'm frowning 'cause of you." he said, managing to uphold his look of indolence despite feeling rather annoyed.

"Me? What did I do?"

And again he saw that puzzled look filling her face. And again he heard that sincere wonder lacing her voice. And again he realized she was clueless; oblivious; so goddamned slow.

Instead of answering (since he really didn't feel like it), he kissed her. Just a quick peck. Which she returned, albeit confused. But she didn't question further, deciding that she didn't want to know. After all, she figured, if it was really bad he would tell her.

Right?

* * *

Passing through Fishman Island went by fast. They arrived. Were received. Partied. Left. Perhaps if they didn't have the gloom of a taken comrade lining their subconscious they might have been able to enjoy themselves. More so than they had, in any case. But no one complained. Okay, that's a lie. Someone _did_ complain. Like a whiny cat. But a good kick in the ass made him shut up. (Incidentally he fell overboard after wards. Oops.)

Now they approached the Shabondy Archipelago. It loomed in the distance, many tall mangroves striking a fierce impression against the horizon. All around, the decor consisted of various bubbles, shiny transparent and adding to the atmosphere an immature feel; many people felt like bouncing around bubble-to-bubble whenever they came here. Many people _did _bounce around bubble-to-bubble, throwing self-restraint to the winds and unleashing the part of themselves that society was apt to frown upon.

Siren stared at the place, sitting upon the ship's railing. Ace stood next to her, hands hanging from his pockets.

"So many bubbles." she said, eyes following each bubble as they floated higher and higher until, finally, popping. Ace grinned, scratching a spot on his nose.

"Everything's made of bubbles there. Even their amusement park is bubble-based."

"They have an amusement park?" He can't be sure, but Ace thinks her eyes brightened. Just a tad.

"Yeah. It's a real fun place, if you can get over the Auction House and Marines."

"Don't mention the Marines or you'll give me a headache." Siren drawled, her fixation with watching the bubbles growing. Ace's grin sharpened.

"That's unsurprising. They give everyone a headache." He laughed.

"We could have freedom without them." She said absently. Mumbled, really, for Ace almost didn't hear her.

"We've already got freedom. What's more freer than traveling the seas, with no rules to follow but your own?"

"It's true. You do have that freedom." She nodded. "But not everyone else."

"Everyone else could have this freedom, too. They could break free just as easily as we all did."

"Is that so?" Siren hummed, gaze never leaving the bubbles, the absent tint in her eyes unyielding. Her expression hadn't change at all save for a very small smile. The accompanying emotion was difficult to make out. Ace raised an eyebrow. He wondered if he just poked a sensitive spot. Or maybe he made her feel better about something? Hm.

Deciding it wasn't his place to pry (or care), he wandered off to the main deck. The usual happenings were taking place; the drinking, the laughing, the bets and dares. Sneaking alcohol to their Captain. Nurses frowning and scolding yet letting it happen anyway. Jozu sat with some of his division some way off, that face of annoyance replaced with a smirk. Vista forced Thatch into dancing (or maybe Thatch agreed on it, since he laughed along in that joyous manner of his). He spotted Marco sitting with that commander whose-name-he-could-never-remember-nor-pronounce; the one that looked like a girl from far away until you took a closer look at him. A _really_ closer look.

When they reached the island, the mood didn't change; it just transferred from ship to shore. Everyone paired off or grouped together to explore this place, the last island they had been on before crossing into the much harder New World. The only one not exploring was Whitebeard, who could honestly care less. He'd been here many times, maybe too many times; enough to last him a life time. Besides, if people knew that Whitebeard was here, needless trouble would ensue. Right now there was nothing more valuable than keeping a low profile.

Marco, having cooled off, walked around with Siren. She gawked in silent marvel at all of the bubbles, eyeing the Bon Chari as people zipped right by in them. He considered renting one for her, and he would have too. But something distracted him from that thought. In the distance, tall and robust as ever, stood Steinberg. That man, that old Professor of Siren's. Of course, as intent with gawking as she was, she failed to notice. It wasn't until Marco gave her a good nudge and a gesture that she did notice.

"Professor?" Siren tilted her head to one side, casting an inquisitive look at Steinberg. He smiled a broad smile, taking no delay in embracing her.

"Aye, my little chicky-doo!" he said. When he pulled away he nodded in acknowledgment to Marco.

"Professor, why are you here? I thought you returned to Sarasota?"

"I did." he said. "But I can't just let my little girl be alone, right?"

"Oh, come now! I'm fine, Professor."

"Old habits die hard."

Siren sighed with a roll of her eyes.

"But," Steinberg clapped. He turned to Marco, look becoming more solemn. "I've more important reasons for being here."

Marco cocked an eyebrow, vaguely wondering why the man addressed him instead of Siren.

"I've done a bit o' snooping these past weeks. I can tell you where the Wicca Pirates hide out at."

Oh. That explained it. Needless to say both Marco and Siren were shocked. Speechless. And he must have picked up on it, too, for he let out a hefty laugh.

"You..." Siren was the first to speak. "Is this what you've been doing the whole time?"

"Of course. Didn't I just say I can't leave you alone?"

Such consideration. It really shouldn't have surprised her. This man had always looked after her, for years now.

"Granted, I hope you'll trust me." he continued, turning his attention back to Marco.

"It'd be up to my Captain, eh." Marco shrugged.

"Pish posh!" Siren waved him off. "Even if Whitebeard doesn't trust you, I will." she glanced at Marco in what resembled defiance. "I would be more than willing to go by myself if need be."

"Don't." he said or sighed, hard to tell but either way it sounded like a warning.

"I won't have a choice if Whitebeard decides not to trust Professor."

"I'm sure he will, eh." he frowned. "Trusts _you_, now don't he?"

A reproachful clucking from Steinberg put an end to their premature bickering.

"Hm! Children, don't argue." he scolded lightly. "Trust, no trust, she goes, you go, none o' that matters. What's important is how you handle the information I give; you must show caution and careful action, otherwise you're all dead."

"Fine, whatever, eh." Marco let his eyes linger on Siren before turning them to the man. "Tell me what you've got and I'll relay it to Pops later."

The trio stalked off to a nearby cafe. After ordering which ever drink they wanted (Marco being the only one not drinking coffee- said something about hating bitter stuff), Steinberg prepared to speak. Siren sipped away, peering at him over the brim of her cup.

"I'mma be honest, chicky-doo." he started. "I was surprised. I knew about the Wicca Pirates, and I knew Vonnegut started them. What I didn't know was how long ago. Turns out they've been around for a few centuries."

"Centuries?" Marco tilted his head, eyebrow shooting high up. "That's pretty damn old."

"Yeah, right? The Wiccas are the longest lasting pirates in history. They've got generations and generations of past crewmembers. But despite all the time that's passed, there's one thing that don't change."

"Which is-?" Siren made a vague gesture with her hand.

"Their Captain."

"Impossible. No human can live for centuries at a time, eh."

"Ah, but see, _normal_ humans can't. Magical humans are a different story."

Siren sat up a little straighter. "Marco, it's just that magic can do anything and everything if applied properly. It is indeed _improbable_ for a wizard to lengthen his life- it requires too much understanding of magic and anatomy than imaginable- but it's by no means _impossible_. There's a fine line between the two."

"Tch, a very fine line if you ask me, eh." Marco shrugged, face relaxing. "But I'll take your word for it."

"Right, well." Steinberg paused for a moment, trying to decide which piece of information is more important than the rest. "James Vonnegut is centuries old. He's probably traveled the world over already. Who knows? But in his time as a pirate he's set up base in every ocean known to man, and he's got quite the impressive fleet. I don't know what the hell he's up to but I did manage to intercept one of his messages." he dug through his coat pocket. A few seconds in he pulled out a letter. With a flick of his wrist he tossed it to Marco, who wasted no time in reading it over.

"Turns out they've got their own little prison base. Your crew-mate's there for sure, Vonnegut may not be. I can't tell you where that man might be. He hides himself from his own subordinates."

"No one's untraceable." Marco said calmly, re-reading the letter again until he was satisfied. "Where's this prison of theirs at?"

"Near here, actually. It's about a month's trip away. Siren can get you there."

"Same method as always, I'm supposing?" she drawled.

"Yup. The Log Tower is hidden up in Mangrove number one. When you get the Log Pose I'll take you up there."

"I better go tell Pops then." Marco stood up. "Thanks for everything, eh."

He nodded at Steinberg and gave Siren a fleeting kiss on the cheek before heading off to the Moby Dick. Siren continued to stare at her old professor, biting the inside of her cheek.

"What's the matter, lil' chicky? Worried?"

"Not so much. This Vonnegut guy is just- well, he must be smart. I've never known any wizard accomplished enough to live for centuries without aid from an elixir or ancient relic."

"I know what you mean but there's no point in fretting over it. As long as you don't go fighting him, that is."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't. I hate fighting, you know that. Though the big guy might if his dear "son" is hurt."

"If that Whitebeard guy _did_ get in a fight with Vonnegut, what would you do?" Steinberg leaned on one arm, voice slow and deliberate. Siren kept chewing her cheek, eyes staring straight at him.

"What would I do?" she repeated. "I'd watch."

"You'd watch?" he tilted his head back, eyes narrowing a fraction.

"Yes. A Devil Fruit can cancel out magic. The big guy is a strong man so I'm sure he wouldn't need, nor want, my help."

"Nah," a smirk crossed his face. "You're just too lazy."

Siren chuckled, a smile stretching up her face. "That too."

They both laughed for a few moments, finishing off their drinks. The rest of their day was spent as such. Laughing. Joking. Gossiping. Catching up on life once again, ignoring the near-three-year drift of circumstantial separation. Siren would be leaving soon too, if Marco handing her the Log Pose was any indication. She deserved a piece of home, if at least for a little while.

* * *

When the Log Pose finished and all of the provisions were re-stocked, the pirates and the witch bade farewell to the Shabondy. And to Steinberg, too, who quite regretfully told Siren he couldn't go along. Said something about being discovered by Sarasota's officials- to which Siren figured the man kept sneaking out. Though she did appreciate all of his help.

Seeing as it would be one month before reaching the Wicca prison, the members of the crew got busy entertaining themselves. Drinking ensued- not that they needed an excuse for that-, card games, contests, betting. The ship became more and more like a carnival as time passed. They may very well build a Ferris Wheel on deck one day.

And, as always, Ace bounded towards Siren- all grinning and aglow with childish excitement on his freckle face- begging for some more magic tricks. He wasn't alone in his plea- no, never. A handful of the men were into magic and magicians. The same men, always.

Siren didn't mind indulging them; why should she? She was lazy, sure, but not that lazy. She stood up and waited for them to circle around her- like a good audience should; Marco always watched as well. Not so much because he liked magicians, but because it was Siren and her magic was actually magic and not cheap thrills. The idea of magic existing intrigued him more than he would ever admit.

Once the circle formed and all eyes were watching she started. Rabbits would appear in a flurry of hats; birds were crushed into appearing on her hand; coins spewed from ears as limbs were removed and re-attached on impulse; handkerchiefs became doorways, allowing entrance to little critters- and the little critters changed forms in colorful bursts of dusts- and they laughed and they cheered and they leered and they loved it, loved it for all its childish worth because even pirates, even men, liked to enjoy the innocence of being a child every once in a while.

And so much fun did they have, so pure did they consider magic to be, that they were shocked. Stunned. When they saw, first hand, just how violent it could get. As the Whitebeard Pirates charged into the Wicca prison base, Marco marvelled at its deceit; how could something so fun, so light, be so harsh, so dangerous?

Magic is a game of secrets and deception. Its fickle nature made it hard to understand- that is, it made it hard for non-magics to understand. But Siren knew it well. Underneath all the surrealism and fantasy laid a simple trick, a hidden foundation. If revealed, magic would become useless and her charms worthless. She had to hide her trick, as did every other witch and wizard in the world.

The wizard standing in front of her knew this as well.

"Are you watching closely?" he asked, smirk like silk decorating his face. She didn't respond, focus never wavering from the man's face. One step, two step-

Gone.

Siren whipped around, kicking the ground to propel herself backwards. A split second later what looked like a lightening bolt struck the ground she had been standing on just now.

_Are you watching closely?_

Watching the air? Watching the ground? Watching the time, the light, the shadows? Watching the life passing by- _where was he hiding?_ Siren bit the inside of her cheek, motionless, aware of her surroundings, aware of every single other person and fight going on around her.

One two kick- she dodged another burst of lightening-like stuff. This time the thing caused a small explosion; the impact of it caused her to stumble and fall.

_Don't blink._

She felt it before it happened. The wizard appeared behind her- transported- and jabbed his fingers into her back. An unwanted yelp escaped her lips as she felt something weird- something hot- burning up her right arm. She spun around to face the man.

"Tell me," he said. "Why won't you attack me?"

She smiled at him, eyebrows rising. "Because then I run the risk of revealing my secrets. I don't want anyone to know the trick to my magic."

"So you'll just put up with my abuse?"

"No. I don't need to." Siren held up her arm, which still burned; the wizard cursed it. "Because now I know yours."

"No." his eyes narrowed. "You're ly-"

He never finished the sentence. The few pirates who had been fighting near Siren and the wizard weren't sure what happened. No one saw exactly what Siren did; what they did see, however, was the wizard's body falling rigid to the ground.

When the trick is revealed, magic becomes worthless.

* * *

Overall, the prison break was successful. There were some injures- those Wiccas were tougher than expected- but nothing bed rest couldn't cure. Siren set to work on curing the curse on her arm, spending a few hours in the corner of the infirmary. A bit away from her, a huddle of both nurses and men surrounded Michael; he was hidden out of her sight.

Michael had been retrieved. He was unconscious when they found him. He would remain unconscious for a week or two. And when he awoke?

Celebrations. All day, all night. At least, that had been the original plan. Unfortunately, life wasn't fair. When Michael did wake up, they discovered he had amnesia. The poor boy could just vaguely remember the bits and pieces of his life. He clutched at his head, staring at all of the faces surrounding him, that fleeting feeling of dejà-vù attacking him every single second- but to no avail. He couldn't remember any of their names, but he knew he knew them. He knew they weren't lying when they told him he was part of the ship, part of their nakama. If only he could... if only... he blinked. Siren stood up from her perch at the far side of the room, still working on her arm.

"I know you." Michael said, furrowing his brows. "Your name is Siren. But I can't remember from where. I guess that's why it's called amnesia, huh?"

He laughed. Siren didn't. This was the first time she looked at him. The first time she noticed him; actually thought about him. She could do nothing but stare. Stiffened. Face dropped in what resembled horror.

"How come I know you?" he asked in utter confusion, wondering why she looked so terrified by him.

"Don't worry about it." she said after a fair few seconds; her voice was faint. "Excuse me."

And she left, stiff, shocked, uneasy. Michael and the other Whitebeard Pirates could do nothing but stare after her.

* * *

**A/N- Hi there! I know it's been forever since my last update but here it is! The newest chapter!**

**I don't know why, but this chapter was hard for me to write. I knew what I wanted to write about but the words just didn't come to me. :/**

**I think it may be a reaction to Ace's death (and now Whitebeard's, though that one I expected). **

**Please review? They would make me feel a billion times better! **


	10. Note to Readers

**THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER.**

I was feeling guilty for the lack of updates so I resolved to write this note. There are some things I'd like to say if you don't mind. :)

First: I will be going on **hiatus **for** 22 days**. For those of you who care to know, I'm putting 22 days because 21 days from now is when I have to submit everything for my AP Art class. I'm supposed to have a lot of pieces done and photographed but I'm quite behind so I really need to focus and buckle down.

I want to update... I even started writing the next chapter. But life is a bit more important right now, and 22 days isn't that bad, I don't think.

Second: For those who may be upset about my absence, I can offer you my livejournal account. I have about three or four drabbles/oneshots of MarcoxSiren/AcexSiren, and one oneshot of Siren/Faye (from Ms. Dragon's _Of Memoirs and Maps_). If you really wish to read something I wrote, then by all means add me as a friend and read those. I even have some linearts posted of scenes Ms. Dragon and I come up with while chatting. Anyone interested can use the link on my profile.

Third: Well, I got a review some time ago- it wasn't really a flame because she did have valid points but there is one thing the person mentioned which I would like to clarify.

Timing.

I know that in One Piece only 3-6 months have passed. And I know that in One Piece it only takes a day or two to travel from island to island. I respect Oda's decision because he is a genius and a much better storyteller than I am. I don't like it though. Not at all; which is why I use weeks as my preferred timing as opposed to days. And as a fanfiction author, I do believe I have the right to keep or alter whichever aspects I see fit. If that really bothers you then I don't know what to say; stop reading, I guess? I don't know.

So, yeah. That's all I have to say for now. I don't want to be on hiatus because I really want to finish this story but alas! School. Ew. It's evil. No lie.

You don't have to review since this isn't a chapter... but I would like to know how my story is going- progression wise. I can't improve without your help! Us authors are needy and blind and lost without you all!

Love!


	11. Getting Started

A/N: Okay, wow. That was quite a long hiatus, much longer than I had intended. School was partly to blame because of all the workload they gave me at the very end, and I was partly to blame for being such an awful procrastinator. Hopefully you all will forgive me?

Usually I save these author notes for the end of the story but this chapter, and probably the next, aren't going to be completely relevant to my plot. But I will fit in some back-story or answers. Besides, it's been a while since I've written anything for this story. I need to catch my flow again before I can progress much further.

A big thanks to everyone and anyone who has stuck with me so far!

Chapter 10

Once again the occupants of the Moby Dick found themselves facing the impressive figure of the Sabaody Archipelago. Whitebeard decided against taking any further action, recuperation being his top priority. With Michael's memory missing and no cure for amnesia existing, they really had to dish out the remedies and hope for the best. If worst came to worst, the doctors and nurses agreed it would be best to let his memory return of its own accord.

At least his personality remained the same. And this memory-deprived version of Michael didn't mind a pirate's life (he actually laughed when he regained his composure enough to understand what it meant to be a pirate). He got along with his crewmates just as well as he did when he had a memory. It was almost as if he had never left, a sense of normality creeping its way back over the ship.

The only annoying thing about this whole affair was Siren.

"I wish she'd stop avoiding me." Michael sighed, swirling his drink idly in its cup. Ace glanced over at the boy- who was no older than himself.

"Meh, I wouldn't worry about it if I were you." he shrugged. When Michael's frown deepened, though, he scratched his head lightly with an upward quirk of his eyebrow.

"But… I just wanna know. Y'know? I don't see why that chick's gotta be so hush-hush about it. I've got every right to know about my own past life!" Michael followed his mini-rant with an angry swig. Ace waited for him to finish before speaking.

"Now that I think of it, you were the same way."

"I was?"

"Yeah. You kinda showed up out of nowhere, didn't wanna talk about yourself. Nothing."

"Well," Michael sucked in his cheeks with an indignant squint of his eyes. "she could tell just me if privacy's a big issue. I mean, I wouldn't squeal."

"Talk to her, then."

"But she avoids me!"

"Corner her, then."

"What if she slaps me?"

When Ace snorted, a flush crossed Michael's face.

"She's not gonna slap you. And even if she does, you're a pirate. Just, I dunno, make her stop."

"But what if we end up fighting?"

Somehow Ace's second snort sounded more condescending than amused. That didn't help Michael's flush.

"All these excuses! Man you're scared, aren't you?"

"Scared? Hell nah, don't be stupid. I ain't got nothing to be- to be scared of."

"Okay. Then stop pulling excuses out of your ass and go do something about it."

"Fine! I will!"

"Okay then."

"Just watch me."

"I will."

"…"

"…"

"After dinner. Tomorrow." Michael knew he'd never erase the image of Ace's smug smirk from his mind. That third snort would forever resonate inside his ears like a haunting melody.

Being the kind and generous person he was, though, Ace spared Michael further embarrassment by changing the topic. Food was always a great conversation starter- especially when one of the conversationalists had a black-hole for a stomach.

On some other part of the deck, the actual Siren lounged with her back against a wall. Marco and Thatch sat on either side of her, each with their own drinks and snacks. As they spoke, Siren kept her eyes glued to the Archipelago with the same childish interest she had the first time. Thatch chuckled low when he noticed.

"Looks like someone's hooked." he said with that funny grin of his. Siren blinked, turning her eyes to him.

"Of course. It's bubbly. What's not to like?"

"I should just buy you some dolls to play with, eh." Marco teased with a lazy smirk, unceremoniously shoving a piece of food into his mouth. Siren eyed him calmly, shrugging one shoulder.

"You should take me to the amusement park instead, dear birdie."

"What? And be surrounded by screaming little children?" he shook his head with a small shudder. "Make Thatch take you."

"Oi, now, don't shove her off on me."

"But you like children. And the amusement park. You can be her guide for one day, eh."

Siren cleared her throat, letting a small frown tug one corner of her face down. "You men sure know how to make a girl feel special. Am I that much of a bore to be around?"

Without waiting for an answer, she took one of the strawberries Marco was just about to pop into his mouth and munched on it with no real enthusiasm. A small part of her wondered if they were being mean just to kid around or if they seriously didn't want to be around her. After another bite or two from the strawberry, she decided she didn't want to know the answer.

Thatch's grin seem to grow an edge wider at the annoyed look on Marco's face, who was lamenting the loss of his fruit. She just had to take the biggest one…

"If I didn't mind being around children, I would take you." Marco shrugged. "But I hate children."

Siren tore her gaze away from the Archipelago to again eye the man next to her. "Technically, I'm a child compared to you."

It didn't take Marco long to pick up on the meaning behind those words. He felt his eyebrow twitch up in irritation. "It's rude to call people old, eh."

"It's also rude to lie." she said, finishing off the strawberry. "So I'm afraid you'll just have to put up with being called old."

She threw him a smile as Thatch watched on in amusement.

"Well, she does have a point." he mused. Marco sent him a glare.

"Don't encourage her!"

* * *

With the ship tucked away in some safe place and all the crew in a joyous mood, everyone was allowed to disembark and take the day off. Well, almost everyone. Some unlucky few were charged with re-stocking needed provisions but no one stopped to show them any sympathy. They were going to be here for a few days so everyone would get a chance to relax sooner or later.

As they were climbing off the ship, Siren caught a glimpse of Michael and felt a familiar sense of unease capture her stomach. Another emotion which resembled anger mixed into the unease as well, but she felt too uncertain to act upon it. It's been years since she last saw Michael, almost three years to be exact. And even then, the last time she saw him were on very unpleasant terms; the last time she saw him, Vincent died.

Withholding a sigh, she looked up to Marco who was strolling beside her.

"My Professor is still on the island." she said. "You wouldn't mind if I run off to see him now, would you?"

"Of course not." he answered with disinterest. "Go ahead and do what you want, eh. We can meet up later."

"Right." she nodded before flicking him a wave. He returned it with a nod before she walked away in the direction of Mangrove 70. Marco watched her for a moment. She was nice, he told himself. But there was a doubt forming in his mind with each new day he spent with her. He figured maybe some time away from her will help him get his thoughts properly organized. Help him figure out what he really wanted. So he went to go bother his fellow commanders in the mean time, finding the idea of their company much more pleasant.

Somewhere off in the distance, Michael watched as Siren left Marco's side and headed off on her own. He found himself following her from a safe distance, wondering where she was going. This was the first time he's seen her without anyone around. Ace's voice rang in his head, telling him to take advantage of her loneliness and go. Go corner her and make her explain everything to him. Use force if needed but goddammit he had a right to know!

"Yeah. That's what I'll do." Michael mumbled under his breath, dodging behind a tree as Siren glanced over her shoulder. He swallowed a lump that formed in his throat. A shaky frown trembled on his face. Damn. Just how exactly was he to get her to talk? He didn't know the first thing about the girl except that she liked to avoid him. Which didn't exactly help.

Okay. Maybe right now he should just focus on following her. He could come up with the how aspect later, when he actually succeeded in cornering her… if he succeeded in cornering her. No, _when _he succeeded. Confidence. Confidence.

Siren walked on, oblivious to the jittery shadow following her a few yards behind. The very shadow she kept feeling conflicted over; the very shadow she intended to speak to Steinberg about because to be bluntly honest, she didn't know what to think. How to feel. What to do. She sighed, eyes watching random bubbles as they formed, floated, and popped into the air, wishing she could do the same thing.

It didn't take long to reach Steinberg's place. It was a little hut hidden within the many big roots criss-crossing along the ground, tucked in the shadows cast about. Siren walked up to the hut and took a deep breath, nervousness trembling paths into her body. She lifted her fisted hand and held it in the air for a moment. Two moments. Three moments. Her brows knitted together. Her face became heavy, frown dragging her lips down into a droopy curve.

A breeze picked up and the popping of bubbles seemed to mute. Something didn't feel right. She knocked. Three loud and sharp thuds against the wood. When there was no response, she knocked again.

Nothing.

She stared at the door before something possessed her to open it. She grabbed the knob and expected it to not move. But when she was actually able to turn it, and open the door, and step inside, a red-flag started waving right before her eyes. Something was wrong, she could just feel it.

She walked further into the little hut, looking at everything. Some broken vases laid to the right; papers and documents were laying about haphazardly, some torn and bruised with black footprints. The sparse furniture adorning the room were skewed and disorderly, one toppled over. Next to the fallen piece of furniture, and much to Siren's horror, was Steinberg's wand. Splintered, broken in half, covered in dust.

Picking it up, all Siren could do was stare at it. What could have happened? Her mind raced, heart picking up in speed. Obviously there was some kind of fight. And by the look of things, he lost. But it made no sense to her. Why would anyone want to pick a fight with him?

The silence and lifelessness of the hut began to weigh heavily upon her. She left it and all of the questions carved into the walls, unsure of what the right thing to do would be. She didn't know how long ago the fight was, nor who initiated it. She didn't even know if- and it panged her to even think it- Steinberg was dead or alive. Siren placed the broken wand into her pocket before sighing for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

There always had to be something, huh?

Meanwhile, Michael still lingered some distance away from Siren. When she had first entered the hut, he had felt disappointed; his one chance to finally confront her and she goes to visit someone! He scolded himself, thinking he should have stopped her earlier. But then after a few minutes she came back outside, an air of solemnity replacing the relax manner of her posture. Just as he started to muse over how quick that visit had been, Siren started heading back to the main road.

Michael took a deep breath. He needed to stop her. Now. Before she went off to be with someone else and he misses his chance.

"Hey!" he called. She didn't seem to hear him, never once pausing. "Hey! Hey! Siren!"

Running after her, a sudden adrenaline injecting him with courage, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. She stopped, eyebrows lifting as she blinked at him. Michael could see something flickering in her eyes, something other than surprise.

"Hey." Michael offered her a smile.

Her eyes darted around the surroundings before meeting his gaze. "…Hello?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to one leg.

His mouth opened and, for a few seconds, no words came out. Finally, "I need to talk to you."

"You already are." she drawled, face settling into a look of boredom.

"Well, yeah, I mean, I guess I am but I meant I need to talk to you about something important."

"More important than your rambling, I hope."

Michael felt his courage deflate a bit. But he was a stubborn one and refused to back down now that he had her attention. A small part of him wondered why she's actually listening to him now.

"Yeah. It is. I just- I just wanted to know if you know me from somewhere."

"Yes, I know you. You're a part of the Whitebeard pirates."

"That's not what I meant! I mean do you know me from somewhere other than the Moby Dick?"

Michael held her gaze, watching as her lips pursed together. Siren felt the usual unease that always came from seeing him surface, mixing in with the uncertainty that's been plaguing her all day. She couldn't help thinking how much she hated this feeling.

"…Yes." she relented, fingers tapping against her elbow.

"So you knew me back before I lost my memory?"

"Yes."

Michael smiled. "Then you can tell me about where I'm from and my life and all of that?"

"I can." she said. Just as he started to beam: "But I won't."

His face fell. "And why the hell not?"

"I simply don't feel like it." she said. He huffed indignantly, placing one hand on his hip.

"You don't feel like it? Are you for real?" he said. "And what gives you the right to deny me information about my own life?"

"I don't know. Free will." she shrugged.

"Free will? _Free will? _You bitch, that's not good enough!"

"Okay then. I won't tell you because you called me a bitch."

Michael groaned, vein ticking in his temple as he scowled.

"Goddammit! Why are you being so impossible?" he said. "I mean, really, what's wrong with answering my question? You're just trying to fuck with me, huh?"

"No, I'm not. I just really don't feel like telling you."

Michael took a deep breath to calm himself before saying anything more. "There must be a reason. And I want to know what it is."

"Maybe I just don't like you." Siren offered, shifting her weight to her other leg. Michael narrowed his eyes.

"And why don't you like me?"

"To answer that, I'd have to answer your first question. Which I don't feel like doing."

"Oh you damned horse-face!" Michael howled. Siren blinked, another look of surprise coming over her.

"Horse-face…?" Siren echoed. She unconsciously rubbed at her cheek as Michael took another, even deeper, breath.

"Okay." Michael said. "So let me get this straight. You don't like me. So you won't tell me about my life?"

"I won't tell you about your life because I don't feel like it, not because I don't like you."

"So you _don't_ don't like me?"

"I do don't like you."

"What the-" Michael slapped his forehead, though he really wanted to smack her. "I don't like you, Horse-Face."

"Then we have something in common." she said. Letting her arms drop to her side, she straightened herself. "I have business to attend to. See yeah."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and started walking away from him. Michael could only blink after her, sorely tempted to put her in a bubble and let her disappear for good.

* * *

"Oi, Siren."

Siren twitched, thinking it was Michael again. But when she saw Marco walking towards her, she felt relieved.

"Oh, it's you." she said.

"Please, hide your enthusiasm." he remarked, sarcasm way too evident in his voice. Siren smiled briefly at him before falling in step alongside him.

"Did you want something?"

"Yeah. I wanted to know if you found that Professor of yours."

"…No, actually." She fingered the broken wand in her pocket, remembering the scene she had saw earlier.

"No? He wasn't home or something?"  
"His home was in ruins." Siren frowned. "I think he was attacked."

"Hm." Marco eyed his girlfriend. "Well, I came looking for you because I heard something funny, eh."

"I don't suppose you mean the "ha ha" kind of funny?"

"Unfortunately no." he said. "I was walking through the Human Shop area and heard some guys talking about a wizard being on sale."

Siren looked up at Marco, eyebrow lifting curiously. "Human Shop…? There's such a thing around here?"

"Of course, eh."

"I don't like the sound of it…"

"Believe me, no one does." Marco shrugged. "Anyway, I remember you saying something about your kind not being allowed to leave your country. Seeing as Steinberg was the only other magical person around here I figured I'd check with you about it."

"I… guess… I guess he could have been taken by one of those shops." Siren furrowed her brow, chewing on her lower lip. "It did look like someone was fighting in his home. Can you take me to these shops?"

"You gonna look for him?"

"Of course. I have to." she said. "I don't want him to be a slave."

"I'll come with you. You don't know the first thing about slave shops, eh."

Taking the lead, Marco headed towards the deplorable Human Shop area. Siren could only hope Steinberg was still on sale.

* * *

A/N- To be honest, I had written half of this during the summer. This chapter took me the longest to write, for reasons I'm not even sure of. Maybe writer's block?

Well, I'm a senior this year. Despite all the college preparation I'm going to face these next few months, I should still have enough time to fit in writing for this story, especially since I'm only taking 2 AP classes and no science/math classes. I'm also going to keep trying to improve my story-telling- personally, I feel that this chapter is much better than some of the past ones. Am I wrong to think this?

Please review and tell me!


	12. Another Note to Readers

Yeah…

Wow. It's been a year since I updated this story. I'm sorry if this note tricked any of you into thinking there was an update but I have a few things on my mind that I would love opinions on.

I don't like my progression of the story. After re-reading it with a year's worth of growth, I see so many mistakes and ill-executed things. I think I would feel better if I re-wrote each chapter. All that's been revealed will be the same, it'll just be revealed in a different way. Plus I think I need to improve Siren's character some more, I'm not quite happy with her portrayal yet. How would you guys feel if I did this?

I still can't decide who to ultimately pair Siren with. I wrote this with the intention of it being an Ace story but somehow ended up pairing her with Marco. If I re-write this story, I can do it so that she and Ace gradually start to like each other (and her having nothing to do with Marco), but there have been some of you who rather she stay with Marco. Should I make a poll?

In chapter 9, _Caramis_ left a review which was rather harsh and hurt me at the time. She raised the question whether Siren was a self-insert since she looks like me. Or rather, did look like me. Here's my rebuttal; as a Hispanic, I was sick of reading stories in which the Pirate Oc's were always made with light-skin, or with Caucasian features. If someone's been a pirate for a few years, it makes more sense to me that their skin be tan, so I made Siren tan (darker than me, by the way, since I'm a fairly white Hispanic). I didn't want her to have unusual colored hair since it would clash with her personality, so I stuck with brown. The only did Siren and I have in common is us having to wear glasses, which I'll admit I did that on purpose because… come on. How many Oc's out there have glasses? She's mundane looking enough, she needed some kind of distinction or quirk. And, honestly, Hispanics tend to be described the same way; all brown. The only way to tell them apart is to see them face to face, then you realize their different facial structures and what not. I've drawn Siren and I can assure you she looks nothing like me, nor acts like me. If this isn't convincing, then go to my story "Moby Dick Chronicles" and read it. It features Ellie, who in fact IS my self-insert. You'll notice a great difference between her and Siren.

Would you guys like it if I drew pictures of Siren and the mark on her back? And of Michael? Describing her mark was challenging, and if I re-write this story I rather not go through that hassle again. Lol

That's about all that's on my mind. Again, I would really appreciate it if you guys left a review, or message me, with your thoughts! I feel terrible when I see someone add this to their favorite list, or subscribe to it, because I honestly don't feel like I can continue writing it unless I re-write my current chapters first. :/

Thank you all so much for reading this, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed or favorite since I stopped writing. 3


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